


Starstuck Chronicles, Episode I: Secrets in the Dark

by idiosyncraticWordsmith (literaryAspirant)



Series: Starstuck Chronicles [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Action, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Gen, Intrigue, Mystery, jedistuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6863554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryAspirant/pseuds/idiosyncraticWordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Republic and Empire maintain their peace, mysteries and uncertainty emerge. As both the Jedi and Republic try to investigate and uncover these various unknowns, they find only more questions unanswered, questions which could threaten peace in the galaxy. As Jedi Knights Dir'k and Dayv try to discover the source of mysterious contraband, their fellow Jedi Rokzi and Roze try to track down an assassin's paper trail - only to find ghosts and echoes that reach past the de-militarized zone between powers into the Mid Rim and the Empire. Meanwhile, Commander Jade Har-bert and Sergeant Jake Ang'lysh must deal with the bureaucracy of the Republic Navy, and smuggler Captain Jon Har-bert plans a mission of his own, while Senator Crok'r contends with the Galactic Senate - and her new enemies within it - to see justice and democracy prevail. Yet as all these events unfold, the greatest question of all is... will any of it even matter? Or will their efforts be in vain - or worse, play to the advantage of their enemies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The galaxy sits in strained peace. LORD CALIBORN’S Empire, supported by DARTH SCRATCH’S Sith, and the GALACTIC REPUBLIC, led by SUPREME CHANCELLOR CALLIOPE, maintain their treaties and agreement in the interest of peace between the rival powers. Despite this, conflicts and intrigue rage across the galaxy, from the war-torn borderspace between the Empire and Republic, where rebellions and civil wars rage, to the halls of the Senate itself. To resolve these concerns of war and politics, several members of the JEDI ORDER and REPUBLIC NAVY work to bring peace and justice.

COMMANDER JADE HAR-BERT, leader of the Republic’s prestigious Atom Squadron, and her cousin, FIRST SERGEANT JAKE ANG’LYSH, commander of the renowned Skullbreaker Platoon, return to the FIFTH FLEET to await their next assignment after assisting allies of the Republic in the fight against pro-Imperial elements. Despite their efforts, and the great capability of their pilots and marines, the various micro-wars that plague the borderworlds, such as the CIVIL WAR between the ALTERNIAN EMPIRE and ALTERNIAN RESISTANCE NATION, rage on.

In Imperial space, the smuggler-privateer CAPTAIN JON HAR-BERT delivers a shipment of Republic contraband to resistance elements in the Empire. While his work is vital to Republic interests, it is also strictly forbidden by several treaties, and discovery could result in war breaking out. In the interest of preventing this, he plans a daring mission to recover intelligence vital to his mission, but must first return to the Core Worlds to prepare.

In the Galactic Senate, Senator JAYN CROK’R has gained renown for accomplishing much in her short service. Already, she has become known as an ally to the just and needy, and an enemy to the corrupt. After exposing a large ring of corruption in the Senate, she now must deal with the political fallout of such a bold move, as she plans her next move to bring justice to the Senate, and serve the Republic as a whole.

Jedi Guardian DAYV and Sentinel DIR’K set out to investigate a mysterious shipment of contraband intercepted by Dayv and the Coruscant Security Force. Meanwhile, Jedi Sentinel ROKZI sets out to carry out an investigation of her own, to determine the contractor of a would-be assassin intercepted by Jedi Consular ROZE LA’LONDE. All the while, the four must deal with the troubled history between themselves, and their former masters.

Unbeknownst to any of these brave and noble heroes of the Republic, their actions - and destinies - are linked, as a greater plan is at work… a plan which will decide the fate of the Republic, the Empire, and the galaxy…


	2. Delivery

Streaking through the space above his destination, Captain Jon Har-bert concluded that the Empire wasn’t trying hard enough.

Alphus II was a Mid Rim world just a few parsecs away from what was traditionally considered the heart of Imperial space. It had been one of the Empire’s earliest conquests after Lord Caliborn allied with the Sith and began the new conquests that had lasted the past hundred years or so. Alphus itself had been under Imperial control for the better part of eighty years, and was used as a breadbasket world to feed the Imperial war machine’s massive appetite. The soil was extremely rich, and it yielded enough crops to account for somewhere around 7% of the entire Empire’s food supply, the most any single planet produced.

Which meant that the resistance on this planet was very, very much not a good thing for the Empire. If Alphus slipped from their control, they’d have to either let their citizenry starve, or downsize their military’s rations. And given the recent string of rebellions popping up, starving citizens might find themselves tempted to take up arms.

This was all a large part of the reason why Jon was sneaking his ship through the surprisingly thin orbital garrison. There was only two Star Destroyers in orbit, and a handful of frigates. There were large areas in their patrol that were open to sneak through - areas Jon was taking liberal advantage of. This was close to the center of Imperial space, and a planet that was immensely important to the Empire’s logistics,  _ and _ with a notable resistance faction. Why weren’t there more ships? Did they have a shortage, or just assume that they didn’t need a large orbital presence?

Either way, Jon was entering atmosphere within an hour’s time, and made his way for the coordinates he had been given to rendezvous with the planetary resistance.

“CAS-33,” Jon piped up as he guided his ship in the cockpit, “Make sure the sensors are at max atmospheric range. I don’t want any attention on our landing approach.”

“Yes, Captain,” his AI responded, “sensors at max range and max sensitivity, searching for Imperial profiles.”

“Good. Let me know the  _ instant _ you pick anything up.”

CAS-33 - whom Jon simply called ‘Case’ or ‘Casey’ - was his only “crew member” and companion for most of his missions. He didn’t want to spend the money to hire more help, and frankly, he didn’t care to have more people on board. His work was extremely sensitive, and while he had a privateering charter with the Republic Navy, that didn’t expand his hiring pool. The kind of people he had access to weren’t the kind known for their discretion - or loyalty. Besides, he could handle just about any situation on his own, or at most with Casey’s help.

For the moment, though, he had no situations to deal with aside from piloting his ship. He took the time to appreciate the view as he descended beneath the cloud cover just a short flight to his destination: the planet was covered with colors of all kinds. Beneath him was forest, but he could see amber, red, and purple crops in distance farmland. He didn’t want to be closer to that farmland, though - there’d certainly be an Imperial presence near them. The forest was wilderness, though, and fairly safe to fly over.

_ Fairly _ safe, he noted, as a blip on the sensors appeared.

“Alert: Several fighter-class ships detected. Profile matches Imperial CAL Fighters in patrol formation,” CAS-33 reported. Carbonic-Amplified Mark L engines were the engine of choice for Imperial starfighters, so ‘CAL’ was often the designation given to them. CAL Fighters were the staple of the Empire’s space and air force, and were generally unremarkable - compared to more advanced designs, anyway. He could outrun them or outgun them pretty easily, but that’d draw attention.

“Which transponder codes are we using right now?” Jon asked. He used several different falsified codes for his ship, each associated with a particular persona he had developed for situations like this. As far as the Empire was concerned, “Captain Jon Har-bert” of the “ _ Heir of Breath _ ” very rarely existed.

“Current transponder codes in use designated as ‘RESEARCH’, fetching falsified data… presenting…” Casey replied. In a few seconds, Jon had all the information about his current persona in front of him, just as the CAL Fighters hailed him.

“Unknown vessel, identify yourself,” the Imperial ordered.

“Oh hello! Hello! My apologies,” Jon replied in a creaky older-sounding voice, complete with accent. “I am Dr. Johann Bertus, captain of the  _ Seer of Space _ , conducting cartographical research. I’m attempting to map out the whole planet, you see!”

“A ship with your profile was reported being wanted after escaping an Imperial patrol. Please follow us to the nearest settlement for documentation,” the patrol ordered.

“Escaping an Imperial patrol? Oh gracious, certainly not me!” Jon assured.

“Repeat: Follow us for documentation,” the patrol emphasized. Jon rolled his eyes at the pilot’s insistence. He was still a few kilometers away from the resistance base, but shooting down CAL Fighters would still draw attention to the area that the resistance didn’t need. He had already drawn too much attention by letting these pilots notice him here.

“Oh, I’m afraid I simply can’t, I’m in the middle of my surveying run - would it be acceptable if I just sent my credentials?” Jon inquired. His personas all had credentials that could pass a cursory examination, but if these scouts decided to track them much further than just looking at them, he could cause trouble.

“Affirmative, transfer them immediately,” the pilot assented. He was getting very close to the base now, just a few minutes more. He had to shake these pilots. He pressed a few buttons on the console, and sent a copy of his false credentials over. Several seconds passed. He received confirmation that the data file was sent, but the pilot was silent. Jon placed a hand on the engine thrust - if things went south, he’d go into overdrive and send them on a wild goose chase until they lost him. It’d cause a stir, but it wouldn’t lead them straight to the base.

“Credentials confirmed. You may proceed,” he finally heard. Looking at his rear camera, he saw the patrol turn around and leave him alone. He let out a sigh of relief as he spoke his thanks before closing the comm channel. He made a point to continue veering around and delaying his arrival at the base until he had seen no blips on his sensors for several minutes, and then resumed his route to the resistance base.

Finally, it came in view - he had spent a week moving from Kuat in the Core Worlds where he picked up this shipment to Alphus II, and now he was finally in the home stretch. It was just a few watch towers peeking out of the canopy, but he knew that they were the outermost perimeter of the resistance base. He even saw little people in the towers, probably looking at him now, trying to determine if he was friend or foe. To help them out, he set his comm frequency to the one he was provided with to contact the resistance when he was close.

“This is the  _ Heir of Breath _ to my little buddies on the ground,” he said, “I’m coming in with your custom order fresh from Republic space.”

A few seconds passed, and he received an answer. 

“Captain Har-bert,” he heard, “this is Base Commander Axo. By the Force, are we glad to hear from you… you can make your landing at land pad five, we’ll have a team there to help unload, I’ll see you there,” Axo promised.

“Copy that, Base Commander, see you soon,” Jon answered before disconnecting. He suddenly realized he’d be around other people for the first time in a week (well, discounting the incident with the Imperial patrol he ran into). He looked down at himself, and realized he was a mess - his shirt was filthy and he hadn’t cleaned himself in days.

Switching on the auto-pilot, he dashed over to the  _ Heir’s _ starboard side, where the living arrangements were. He took off his blue shirt and black utility vest, and tossed them into the fabric cleanser, before removing his black pants and doing the same. He hopped into the bio-cleanser, and pressed the ‘decontaminate’ button. He was flashed with a few gasses and lasers, and in seconds, the process was over. He didn’t feel clean, but he didn’t stink and his hair wasn’t a greasy mess anymore. He stepped out and re-donned his clothing, promising to himself (for the sixth time) that he’d never let himself go that long without cleaning up again.

“May I offer a conclusion I have come to, Captain?” CAS-33 asked.

“Sure, Case,” Jon grumbled as he slid his pants back on.

“You work too hard, sir,” she remarked.

“I work a perfectly healthy amount!” He responded as he made his way back to the cockpit.

“Sir, you achieved a total of 20 hours of sleep this week at an average of 3.14 hours per 24-hour cycle. This is not healthy,” CAS-33 reported as Jon sat down at the console and took back control for his landing approach.

“Well  _ somebody _ has to keep the ship running out of hyperspace!” He responded.

“I am perfectly capable of operating the ship on auto-pilot.”

“Yeah, but what about maintenance?” Jon shot back. The  _ Heir _ required somebody to keep tabs on her systems during these long missions away from friendly ports. Damages and jury-rigged repairs meant that constant vigilance was needed.

“A droid assistant would suffice.”

“I don’t need a droid on board. They can get stolen or hacked,” he argued as he landed the ship. He saw the unloading team and dropped the ramp before getting out of the pilot’s seat.

“I am merely concerned for your health, sir,” CAS-33 said.

“Well, don’t be. Open hidden compartments four through seven,” Jon ordered, ending the conversation as he heard the footfall of the team boarding the ship.

“Compartments four through seven opened,” CAS-33 responded plainly.

As Jon passed through the central area of the ship, he came face to face with the team, who were a few dozen in number and dressed in yellow, with the person he assumed to be Axo, in red, leading them. The officer extended a hand to Jon, who took it firmly with a smile.

“Captain, it’s a privilege to finally meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you,” Axo said. Jon started leading them towards their good.

“Likewise, Commander. I understand you’ve been holding yourself against some tall tides?” Jon remarked as he led the team through the corridor where the goods were, indicating the opened compartments. They went to work taking the supplies out of the compartments and bringing them off the ship. Axo sighed.

“Yeah. The base itself has been safe, but our chapters around the planet haven’t had enough firepower to counter Imperial offensives. Resistance command has been working wonders with relocating and keeping everybody safe and secret, but you can’t do much damage when you’re trying to survive in the wilderness,” Axo reported. Jon glanced at the team unloading.

“Well, now that you’ve got some better guns, you can produce more and really get yourselves going,” Jon offered. Axo gave him a sad smile.

“Yeah, that’s the hope. If we can get enough guns made fast enough, we might actually start making a difference…” Axo trailed off. The team had already unloaded the whole shipment - several crates of weapons ready for reverse engineering and reproduction. From here on out, the future of Alphus Resistance was out of Jon’s hands. Axo looked back at Jon.

“What about you? Think you can help make a difference around here?” He asked. Jon could tell he was hopeful that a skilled pilot like Jon would stick around and help a bit more directly. But Jon knew he couldn’t do that - not only did he doubt he could actually offer much as a fighter, he also risked setting off a snafu if the Empire found out the new pilot with the resistance was on the Republic’s payroll.

“I’m sorry - I’ve got a busy schedule, and I can’t stick around that long,” Jon apologized. Axo gave an understanding smile and nodded a bit, offering his hand again.

“We’ll fuel you up and get you on your way,” he promised. Jon took his hand once more.

“Thanks, Commander. Good luck,” he wished. With that, Axo turned and left the ship. Jon walked back to the cockpit, and saw the resistance fighters bringing out a line to fuel him with. He’d need another full reserve to make it back home to Anaxes.

Sitting back in his chair, he let his thoughts wander back to the Core. He’d been out of the Core Worlds - and Republic space - for just a week, but it had been months since he had last been home on Anaxes. And when he was last there, it had been… unpleasant. He had never been the pride and joy of the family - that was always his sister’s place. He tried to avoid running into his family to keep away from the drama, but he needed to go back home to gather the supplies he needed for his next mission.

He thought about that mission now. It wasn’t from the Republic, but rather of his own conception - his supervisors in the Republic Navy didn’t even know what he was planning. But he was told to always pursue the interests of the Republic, and this was in those interests. He had ran into too many patrols, and as long as he was in the dark about patrol patterns in the Empire, he’d continue to do so, and risk discovery more and more. So, he had done a bit of research, a bit of signal tracing, and found an Imperial outpost that almost every patrol he had encountered so far had communicated with. He assumed it was some kind of central post that he could gain a lot of intel from.

Of course, infiltrating an Imperial outpost and stealing its intelligence was a situation he probably could  _ not _ handle on his own. Fortunately, he had a few friends - well,  _ a _ friend - in the Core Worlds he had called on for help. She hadn’t given him a definite answer yet, but he hoped she’d join him. If she didn’t… it’d be an interesting time.

But he reassured himself as he saw the fuel levels rise on the ship’s console. She had time to think. And the more she thought about it, the more she’d know he was right, the more likely she’d join him. She always did the right thing in the end, and she wouldn’t pass up the chance to get something substantial done.

He wondered what she was up to right now… 


	3. Neighborhood Watch

“I’m quite sure that Gamorrean just farted.”

“Roze!"

“Just an observation.”

The wonders of public transportation were never lost on anybody on Coruscant - not even the ranks of the Jedi.

Roze La’londe and Rokzi sat on the tram in their Jedi robes - Roze’s were all shades of lavender, while Rokzi’s were pink with a layer of the usual tan - causing them to stand out on the somewhat cramped quarters. They shared space in the dim pre-dawn morning light with members of all species from all corners of the planet and galaxy - businesspeople, technicians, construction works, probably a few shady figures, too. But they were all lumped together for the endless hours that the tram ran, and while the trip to their destination was only an hour long, it felt like an eternity.

Jedi were used to such discomforts, of course, so the two didn’t _really_ complain. But their master had been unorthodox, and that unorthodoxy rubbed off on the two of them during their respective time with her. Which, in turn, meant have perhaps furrowing a few more brows and cracking a few more jokes along the way.

To be fair, Rokzi was trained to detect fluctuations in scent, and it _did_ smell like Gamorrean fart. She simply sighed a bit, reminding herself to focus beyond the physical pains.

“How much longer until we reach the Representative’s apartment?” Rokzi asked.

“It’s a short walk from the tram station and then an elevator ride up,” Roze reported plainly. She sat with her posture immaculate and her hands neatly folded in her lap, in contrast to Rokzi’s slouch and hands on the sides of the bench.

“Run me through what we know one more time,” Rokzi requested. “I want to make sure I have it all straight.”

“Of course, Rokzi: a day and a half ago, I was called on by Representative Ampora to help mediate with a Senator to help further the Alternian Resistance Nation’s application to join the Republic,” she began. “At the conclusion of the meeting, when the Senator had decided to back Ampora’s cause, the Senator’s bodyguard revealed himself as an imposter - an assassin. I stopped the assassin before he could harm the Senator, and probed his mind. I found that he had been meant to make sure that the Senator toed the line against the Resistance Nation. Failing that, he would eliminate the Senator, and frame Ampora for the death. Before I could determine any more, however, the assassin died of unknown causes, poison, it seemed.”

“Did he crunch down on his teeth? It may have been a tooth capsule,” Rokzi postulated as the tram slowed into its next stop.

“I don’t believe so. His thoughts were panicked, scared - he didn’t know what was happening,” Roze explained. Rokzi hummed in thought at that. Killers that were dedicated to a cause would gladly end their lives to protect their organization - if this had been ideologically motivated, it would narrow the list of contractors greatly. But if the assassin didn’t kill himself… it left more questions than answers.

“Did you sense a motive?” Rokzi asked.

“Yes - money,” Roze answered. “I had a vision shortly beforehand that I had… misinterpreted. It warned of a threat who would leave many to suffer for its own material gain. The assassin only desire the credits of the job,” she went on. Roze had a unique gift in the Order - most Jedi only received Force visions rarely, but hers came several times a year, and often at timely moments.

“Misinterpreted how?” Rokzi inquired as the two of them stood to disembark the smelly tram. Rokzi enjoyed the somewhat cleaner air of the tram station as they made their way through the crowds.

“I had misunderstood _whom_ the vision was referring to,” was all she said.

“Is that so?” Rokzi pried, with a smirk. Roze didn’t like being wrong, and poking fun at her for it was a rarely indulged hobby of Rokzi’s.

“Pride is not the Jedi way,” Roze stated dryly.

“Which is exactly why I chip at your ego,” Rokzi retorted. Roze rolled her eyes as they made their way out of the tram station and onto the busy streets.

In the bustling crowds of this altitude of Coruscant - which was one of the upper-middle levels of the city - the two Jedi in their robes stuck out like sore thumbs. Or rather, healthy thumbs in a sea of sore thumbs - ornateness was the style of the day, and vibrant colors adorned everybody here in eye-catching ways. In contrast, Jedi in plain brown robes - even with Rokzi’s layer of pink and Roze’s shades of lavender - were eye-catchingly modest and simple. Such was the Jedi way - they weren’t supposed to blend in with the crowd unless they needed to for a mission. Even the basic coloration used by the two of them was sometimes looked down on by the Order - it was a symbol of individuality, and individuality bred attachment. While the Jedi teachings were not in favor of totalitarian unity, they did advocate against trying to make oneself an ‘other’ from the rest of the galaxy and Order.

Of course, Master Evalyn had believed that wearing brown-and-tan robes that were so recognizable as Jedi in nature only served to worsen the Order’s disconnection from the rest of the galaxy. She imparted her more populist teachings to her two apprentices, and they honored them every day - both in deference to their teacher, and in memoriam of her shortened life.

Suddenly, both Rokzi and Roze paused and looked over at an alleyway, their Jedi senses warning them of danger.

“You sense it, too,” Roze noted.

“Distress and fear… and malice to match…” Rokzi observed. The two of them walked briskly with purpose through the crowds towards the source of the disturbance.

Coruscant was a planet practically reverberating with the sheer volume of its Force energies, with all the billions of people living in Galactic City. A Jedi had to be astute and sharp of sense in order to pick out the finer strains from the broader ones - there was _always_ somebody who wanted to hurt someone, or despairing in pain, _somewhere_ nearby. These were not always important - a client on the phone with an infuriatingly poor service worker, or an actor rejected for a role. But what these Jedi sensed was more real, more immediate. There was something happening right there, right now.

As Rokzi and Roze made their way into the alley, they saw six people - one of them held to the wall by two others, while the other three looked at him. Rokzi immediately recognized the assaulters by their outfits and markings - they were Kurzai gangsters. They didn’t normally make their way this far up - their crew made their home in the lower levels of the area. The Kurzai were more political than most gangs, and they were known to use the credits they made off of racketeering, extortion, and black market deals to fund authoritarian politics. They weren’t a ‘gang’, even, but rather a political extremist group; the CSF had classified them a gang nonetheless, for reasons beyond Rokzi’s knowledge.

“What have I told you about making your payments on time, Ayar?” The leader among them asked the victim against the wall. They all wore identity-concealing masks that looked like stark white skulls, in contrast to their dark, grimey outfits.

“P-please, I, I’ll have the credits, I’ve got four hundred in my account right now! Take them!” Ayar pleaded. He was a Black Carapacian, his exoskeleton covered by simple enough garb. Carapacians as a whole didn’t believe in decadence.

“We have accepted substandard payment from your account numerous times in the past as it stands,” the Kurzai asked before walking up and gripping the Carapacian’s chin. “We had a contract, Ayar. You pay us, we let your business stand. Now we must compensate for your failure to supply us with our due income, and you must learn what happens when you break a contract with the Kurzai.”

“And if you try that,” Rokzi spoke up, she and Roze having waited to see what the situation was, “you will learn what happens when nightscum decides to crawl into the daylight.”

The Kurzai turned to her. The leader released Ayar before approaching the interlopers.

“Jedi,” he observed. “I had thought to expect an interruption. I urge you to move along. This is Kurzai business.”

“It is intimidation and threats of violence against the innocent,” Roze retorted. “That makes it _Jedi_ business.”

The Kurzai seemed to sigh behind his helmet. “You Jedi… so convinced of everybody’s innocence. Very well. I said I had expected interruption,” he reiterated. Suddenly, a pressure exerted itself gently against Roze and Rokzi’s heads - guards that had snuck up behind them while they were distracted with the scene in the alley.

“What is your name?” Rokzi demanded of the leader. He regarded her amusedly.

“I am Zekus, chief enforcer of the Kurzai,” he answered.

“You and your goons have two options, Zekus of the Kurzai,” Roze interrupted. “Surrender, or humiliation.”

Zekus laughed. “Bold words for a girl with a gun to her head. Even for a Jedi, you seem pointlessly foolish. Then again, this _is_ the Jedi we’re talking about,” he insulted, inciting chuckles from his underlings.

“I take it you won’t be surrendering, then?” Rokzi inquired. She already sensed Roze’s intent to deal with the guards behind them. She’d take the ones in front. Zekus shook his head, then drew a blaster pistol and pointed it at Rokzi’s head.

“Convince me, you pretentious monk,” he spat out.

“With pleasure,” Rokzi retorted.

Suddenly, Rokzi moved with great speed, knocking Zekus’ blaster away from her face before pushing her other hand out to guide the Force in an outward blast, sending the gangster flying backwards. Roze, meanwhile, turned and ducked down, swiping with the Force as she spun to create a wave of force that knocked the two guards down onto their feet. She lifted them up with the Force before slamming them against the opposite walls, causing them to slink down and remain down, unconscious.

As Roze did so, Rokzi dodged blaster bolts as the other Kurzai left the Carapacian to deal with the attack. She dashed up to the nearest one, delivered a punch to the gut, elbowed the arm to disarm, grabbed and yanked at a leg to drop, then swung her arm over to Force-slide the Kurzai away from her towards the legs of two closely-grouped Kurzai, with just enough speed to cause the two to lose their own balance and fall.

By now, Zekus was getting back up, and took a shot at Roze. She merely used her Force powers to deflect the bolt with her hand before using those same powers to rip the pistol from his grip, allowing it to clack and slide harmlessly on the ground. Meanwhile, Rokzi had landed two elbows and a strong kneeing into the gut of another Kurzai before Force-shoving his head into the ground, cracking his helmet and knocking him out. Rokzi spun and saw the other three she had knocked down getting up, with the fourth grouping up with them as they took aim at her.

There was a paused. Rokzi and the Kurzai and Roze and Zekus stared each other down. In that solitary moment of peace in the storm, Roze sensed something… familiar about Zekus.

“ **Kill them** ,” Zekus ordered firmly.

As the Kurzai opened fire, Rokzi finally tore her lightsaber from her belt and allowed its rich purple beam to erupt from the handle, swiping and batting at the hail of blaster fire. Zekus drew a vibroknife from his belt, and charged at Roze, who dodged his swipes. Rokzi advanced on her attackers, who had conveniently formed a line for her. Zekus stabbed downwards towards Roze, who spun out of the attack and around him, before using the momentum to swipe her arms towards the wall, guiding the Force to sweep Zekus over into it. Rokzi started on the right, and in a second of spinning, swiping, and swirling, she had maimed all four Kurzai, removing an arm or leg from each of them. They screamed as they each fell to the ground - their injuries were non-lethal, but painful. Zekus saw this, and saw Rokzi approach him, lightsaber still drawn, as Roze stared down at him.

“Have we convinced you to surrender _now_?” Roze asked. Though she could not see his eyes, she imagined Zekus narrowing them at her.

“Try again later, monk,” Zekus taunted, before tossing a ball-like object from his pocket onto the ground. It detonated, creating a bright flash of light which blinded the Jedi for a moment. When their vision returned, Zekus had disappeared.

“Must’ve used a jetpack,” Rokzi postulated.

“Regardless, he’s gone. Let us focus on the here and now,” Roze responded, turning towards the writing and groaning victims of Rokzi’s skill with a lightsaber. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes. Functional robo-prosthetics are cheap enough. They’ll live and live comfortably. Probably better than smashing their skulls into the ground,” Rokzi answered. While other Jedi were more willing to use their lightsabers, the two of them had been trained that they should not even draw them unless they were willing to take a life. As Jedi, Master Evalyn taught them, they should master the most non-lethal arts possible, with lethal force being reserved for extreme cases. Subdue when you can, main when you can’t, kill only when you must, Master Evalyn taught them. Rokzi brushed thoughts of her late master aside as she walked over to the Carapacian, Ayar.

“Are you alright?” She asked, as her companion began tending to the wounds of the subdued gangsters. She couldn’t grow them new limbs, but she could quiet the pain until the CSF and medical authorities arrived.

“I’m fine… for now,” he answered. “They’ll be back, though… and a lot angrier…”

“What did they want with you?” She asked.

“Money - it’s a racket. I agreed to pay them to keep my weapons store safe, but they’ve raised the rates so high… now they want to just take over my business…” Ayar explained.

“Contact the CSF. The Kurzai don’t normally operate on levels this high up, they’re weak here. The Security Force can sufficiently protect you from them here,” she recommended.

“Wait… what?” Ayar asked, incredulous. “Weak here? How long have you been in that temple?”

Rokzi blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The Kurzai have been muscling themselves in on _everything_ in this sector,” Ayar explained. “Weapons stores, jewelers, hell, even real estate and clothing shops. If it makes good money, they’re gunning for it, it’s like they’re, I don’t know, making investments or whatever,” he postulated.

“I… see… I hadn’t heard about any of that…” Rokzi confessed. It was an embarrassing thing for a Sentinel to admit. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few months now,” Ayar answered. “They started hitting me up four months ago, and I was one of the first, I think.”

Rokzi nodded. This was an interesting development - she’d have to look into it. If the Kurzai were expanding, and expanding in force, that meant some kind of upset was going on in the criminal underworld - they were a big gang in this sector, but even the big gangs don’t get bigger without other groups getting crushed for it. Where were they getting the resources for this push?

“All is well?” Roze asked, coming up at Rokzi’s side. “We’re still expected at the penthouse,” she reminded.

“Of course, of course,” Rokzi answered before turning back to Ayar. “Contact the CSF. They can help better than we can,” she told him.

“I doubt it… but fine,” Ayar allowed. “Thanks again. I owe you.”

“Think nothing of it - it is the Jedi way,” Rokzi answered before turning to leave with Roze. They continued on their way to the Representative’s housing.

“I sense trouble,” Roze noted.

“Yes, there was a fight, four injured, we were there,” Rokzi snarked. Roze rolled her eyes.

“What did the Carapacian tell you?” She asked. Rokzi considered telling her - Roze liked to be involved with her business. Which she appreciated, normally, but considering her timetable for the next few days… she’d have to keep Roze away after looking into the attempted assassination. She didn’t want to risk getting her caught up in… her friend’s latest plan.

“Nothing of importance,” Rokzi told her.

“Deception is not the Jedi way,” Roze criticized.

“Nothing of importance for _you_ ,” Rokzi tried again. Roze got the message - sort of.

“We can discuss it more later. This is the apartment up here,” she pointed out.

“Excellent. Remember - we are _volunteering_ our services, nothing more,” Rokzi emphasized as they entered the building.

“Of course,” Roze responded as they boarded the lift and soared upwards towards the Representative’s penthouse. As was their little custom during elevator rides, the two Jedi took a moment to quiet their thoughts and center themselves, refocusing on what lay ahead. Their master had taught them that transitory moments, like hyperspace and elevator rides, were excellent opportunities for ‘field meditation’.

When the door opened on the Representative’s apartment, there were markings, holo-boundaries, and CSF agents buzzing about. At the dining table was the Representative, leaning back on the high table in his morning wear as he sipped on a drink, watching the investigators work on his day off. He showed no signs of distress or inconvenience, though.

As the two Jedi stepped off the elevator, however, another Alternian, with shades on which only bared showed teal eyes, clad in a black shirt with a teal utility vest, stepped in front of them. This must’ve been the Alternian investigator who requested to be given the lead on the investigation.

“This is a crime scene, authorized personnel only,” she recited crisply and sharply.

“Forgive us,” Roze replied, “I am Roze La’londe, I was a witness to the scene. I promised the Representative to bring help for the investigation - this is that help,” she explained, gesturing to Rokzi, who bowed slightly.

“I am Jedi Sentinel Rokzi - as a Sentinel, I am trained in several skills and fields relevant to criminal investigations and the pursuit of justice,” she introduced herself. The teal-blooded Alternian looked back at the Representative, her stance one of frustration and disapproval. Ampora nodded firmly. She turned back to the Jedi.

“Fine. I don’t care for saber-packing cultists who don’t know the first thing about justice - or _reality_ , for that matter - but if the Representative wants you, I’ll deal with it,” she explained. Rokzi and Roze glanced at one another - they were on the case, but it was evident that their new friend wasn’t going to be very cooperative.

“I assure you,” Rokzi responded, “We’re more than ‘saber-packing cultists’, and we know _plenty_ about justice and reality. If you’d rather we not remain, we will not force ourselves on you,” she promised. The Alternian rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, Jedi. The Rep wants you on, so you’re on - for now. If I get to reserve the right to kick your sorry robed asses off my case, then fine by me. You want to say you’ve got value for the case, you get to prove it - but I’m not holding my breath,” she said, crossing her arms. The Jedi looked at her for a moment.

“I suppose that’s fair enough, Miss…?” Rokzi prompted. The Alternian glared at her.

“ _Investigator_ , Jedi,” she corrected. “Investigator Terezi Pyrope, Republic Department of Criminal Justice, Division of Investigation.”

Rokzi and Roze looked at each other once more. The Department of Criminal Justice didn’t involve itself in affairs on Coruscant where the Security Force could handle things itself. DCJ Investigators were supposed to be out travelling Republic space solving high-level cases nobody else could deal with, not working cases local authorities could close. If Pyrope was DCJ, that meant she had decided that this investigation was worthy of her time as one of the Republic’s most important criminal investigators. While plenty of assassination attempts had happened in Senate history, almost every one was handled by the CSF - which meant something about this case made Pyrope, and her superiors, decide it was above local authorities.

 _“What am I getting myself into?”_ Rokzi thought to herself as Pyrope began giving a rundown of the investigation.

She had a feeling this was not going to be as small a commitment as she thought.


	4. Point Zero

“60 seconds til jump completion,” the pilot murmured to herself, leaning back in her chair.

She had spent the past several hours sitting in the tight quarters of her ARC-181 starfighter, staring at the blue tunnel of hyperspace. And thanks to the mechanics of hyperspace travel, you needed a very special, very complex device to communicate in transit. It wasn’t that the Republic couldn’t afford such communicators - they were just too big for the 181’s smaller frame. So now she and her squadron had to sit in silence for hours on end, just staring at the big blue nothingness in front of them. At most, they had their gunners to talk to - but their commander only had her droid, who was powered down for transit.

Not that any of them wanted to be doing much else than idle right now. Atom Squadron was on the return trip from a sortie in Alternian space, and then another one at the edge of Republic space. They had been refueled, but not resupplied or repaired, and her fighter’s port wing was still missing the last few feet. They needed this trip back to the Fifth Fleet just to get themselves ready for their next mission.

Finally, the tunnel disappeared, and gave way to open space. Well, almost open.

The Fifth Fleet, the Republic Navy’s finest and best outfitted, was stationed at these coordinates in interstellar space along the borderworlds of the Republic. This was Point Zero, the precise location in the space designated as the Republic’s frontier on the De-Militarized Zone from which every other point was equally accessible. Not that it was the perfect center, but rather it made every hyperspace trip as even as possible, avoiding hazards that would lengthen a trip. The worlds on the farthest edge were still hours away, but it was better than the days it’d take from a Core World like Kuat, where the Second Fleet was stationed. Those were defense fleets kept on reserve in case something happened in the Core - Fifth Fleet was much more active.

And its pilots and marines knew it better than anyone that no fleet was better at twisting, turning, and bending the rules of international politics to keep the Empire as contained as possible short of open war. Neither the Republic nor the Empire wanted to risk a full-out war with each other, but they _did_ participate in plenty of proxy wars, like the Alternian Civil War. Never any actual, official combat between their forces, but rather units “on loan” to favored nations might clash. Atom Squadron hadn’t officially fought for the Republic since it was formed.

Nor had Skullbreaker Platoon, the elite special operations unit the Atoms were escorting back home with them. Atom Squadron had bailed the Skullbreakers out of a nasty situation, and they were all heading back to base for refitting and reassignment.

Of course, there’d be more grumbling about nepotism and playing favorites. But Commander Jade Har-bert and Staff Sergeant Jake Ang’lysh were used to the officers gossiping about them. Why did the Skullbreakers specifically request the Atoms to help when the Squadron was nearly on the other side of the frontier? Because they’re cousins, that’s why. It _wasn’t_ why, but it’d take an army of Jedi waving their arms around to convince the higher-ups.

“This is Atom Leader to RNS _Hightower_ , requesting permission to dock for Atom Squadron and Skullbreaker Platoon,” Jade radioed in. The _Hightower_ was the flagship of the Fifth Fleet - an immense _Praetor_ -class Battlecruiser. Four whole kilometers long, armed with forty-two anti-starfighter batteries, twenty turbolasers, ten heavy turbolasers, and two main guns that could punch a hole in any kind of armor. To boot, it had a fighter complement of ten ARC-170 squadrons and seven BTL-B Y-wing bomber squadrons, as well five on-board marine units with shuttles to match, and hangar space for more if need be.

“The is RNS _Hightower_ to Atom Leader and Skullbreakers, you are clear to land in Hangars 222 and 223 respectively,” the flight deck sent back. Jade maneuvered over to the opening hangar bays and made her way into 222, landing her 181 in a random spot. She disembarked her fighter and climbed out as her wingmates made their own landings, and she saw the shuttles land in the next bay over. She looked behind her, and saw her tech droid, B-3C, descending from his place in her ship to roll up to her. When she turned back, she saw some of her boys walking up to her, helmets in hand. She took hers off - her long hair wasn’t regulation, and she didn’t want some stiff-as-a-board officer seeing it and trying to demark her, but there were no officers present for the moment

“We got any word on a debriefing, boss?” Lieutenant Commander Halley asked. He was her second-in-command, and the only pilot who could possibly rival her in a dogfight or race. When Jade was promoted to Commander and given command of Atom Squadron instead of Halley, it was the beginning of the nepotism accusations against her grandfather, and soon after her whole family.

Well, her whole family, minus one. But he wasn't officially a part of the Navy, so he didn't count.

“Not yet, L-T. I’m guessing a petty officer or something will swing down to let us know what’s going on,” she answered. Admiral Netri, who commanded the Fifth Fleet, was usually much more punctual than this - she wanted debriefings the instant they were available.

The side-door to the hangar, which led to the next bay, slid open, and the Skullbreakers came through, Sergeant Ang’lysh at the lead. He was still in his desert combat gear from his most recent mission, having not gotten much of a chance to change, and was in need of a good shave - his stubble wasn’t very regulation.

Along with the walking Skullbreakers were their injured - only a handful, which was impressive. He was thankful that they didn’t suffer any casualties during their most recent mission. After the mission was over, he had made a point to tend to some of their wounds personally. He always tried to show his support for his men. Of course, that support wasn’t unconditional - he also spent the hyperspace trip writing up two discipline reports for soldiers who hadn’t shown honorable conduct becoming of Republic Marines. They were offenses most NCO’s wouldn’t even think about, but Jake held himself to strict ethical standards, and so his marines were held to the same.

Once he saw his cousin and her long black non-regulation hair, he made his way over to her. While they were in the field, they tried to maintain professionalism, but off the field they indulged in a bit more familiar contact.

“Commander,” he greeted with a smile. “Letting your legs readjust to gravity before debriefing?”

Jade smiled and rolled her eyes at his snark. “Certainly a plus side to the wait, Sergeant, but we haven’t heard word for a debriefing yet. We’re expecting a petty officer to come in and -”

“What ho, petty officer! A petty officer, am I?” A voice suddenly said. In their light banter, the two didn’t notice the door opening - or the elderly man in an admiral’s uniform, complete with retainers at his side, standing in the door frame. His moustache was bushy and peppered with gray, while the hair visible under his officer’s cap was much more gray, though bits of black could still be seen. He wore glasses which shone under the light, and his girth was somewhat wide.

The sight of him made both Jade and Jake’s jaws drop.

“G-Grandpa??” Jade stammered, before remembering herself. “Admiral on deck!” She exclaimed.

The marines and pilots at once snapped to attention, their hands going up to their foreheads in salute. Admiral Har-bert chuckled his hearty chuckle and walked into the bay proper, waving a hand in dismissal.

“As you were, as you were,” he ordered, “I figured the surprise wouldn’t be lost on either of you! Ha ha! Your faces, such priceless treasures!”

Jade and Jake stood speechless for a moment before glancing at each other, then back at their grandfather.

“A-Admiral, we thought you were with the Second Fleet over Kuat?” Jake asked. Admiral Har-bert had been reassigned away from the Fifth to command the Second years ago - he was almost sure to retire there.

“Hmph! How many years since you’ve seen your grandfather, and you ask that!” He replied. “Yes, I was over Kuat, and was content, if it were my lot, to let my career die next to the Drive Yards orbiting the planet. But ho, just my luck!” He exclaimed with a swing of the arm, “High Command got pressure on them from the Senate to put me back here with the Fifth! Some kind of initiative to improve the advancement of Republic interests here on the front, I know not about such political phooey, just that it gave me my fleet back!”

“But what about Admiral Netri?” Jade asked.

“Transferred over to the Second Fleet, like a juggling ball, except _this_ juggling ball’s here to stay!” He declared.

Jade and Jake looked at each other again. They loved their grandfather dearly, but he was old, a product of another time. He was a veteran of the Border Wars, the first conflict between the Empire and Republic - the conflict that made both sides realize that war wasn’t a good idea. Admiral James Har-bert had a ribbon and medal collection on his chest big enough to stop a blaster bolt, but he was a warhawk and a maverick - if the Senate and High Command wanted _him_ running something as sensitive as the Fifth Fleet’s operations it could be… well, it may not end well.

“Now then! Your debriefings! Your men can be dismissed to their own devices, I’ll only need you two, of course,” he said as he turned around, Jade and Jake following him out of instinct. Their soldiers and pilots disbanded from their grouping to tend to their ships and their business, while B-3C tried to follow, until Jade ordered him to get the ship prepped for repairs.

“Oh I positively cannot wait to hear of your missions, I’m sure they went stupendously, just swimmingly! You two are really socking it to those Imperial bastards, I’ve heard!” The admiral mentioned.

“Yes, sir, we’ve been doing everything we can to promote stability in the area,” Jade phrased carefully.

“Stability?” Admiral Har-bert asked, and edge of disgust in his tone. “No, my dear child, it cannot be _stability_ we pursue, but _victory_!” He corrected.

“Respectfully, sir, there’s no victory to be won, we aren’t at war with anyone,” Jake noted.

“Fifth Fleet’s current mission is to assist in the resolution of conflicts in Republic space, nothing more, sir,” Jade added. Their grandfather merely scoffed.

“Listen to you two, speaking like bureaucrats and politicians,” he observed derisively. “Back when _I_ was in a cockpit, you didn’t hear such namby-pamby talk from the men and women of the Grand Army! No siree, no!” He declared as they made their way through the corridors of the ship, crewmembers saluting as the Admiral passed by.

“Sir,” Jade tried again, “it isn’t… namby-pamby talk, just simply a fact. We’re not here to cause trouble, we’re trying to _end_ trouble,” she explained.

“Nonsense! Commander, are you aware of the fact that the Empire is funding and arming the self-same insurgents you’ve been bombing?” He asked. Jade’s voice became quieter.

“...Yes, sir.”

“And Staff Sergeant, do you know that the very rebels you’ve been shooting at and capturing are fighting to join the Empire?” He questioned further, his voice rising.

“Yes, sir,” Jake conceded.

“Then it strikes me as rather self-evident that the _cause_ of these ‘troubles’, as you so _delicately_ put it, is the continued reign of that madman calling himself an Emperor, and the persistent existence of that dark blotch of space called the Empire! _Therefore_ ,” he deduced loudly as they entered a debriefing room, “In order to fulfill the Fifth Fleet’s current standing mission of bringing peace to this region of space, we must strike against the Empire and work with every power granted us by the Senate, and perhaps _more_ , to bring an end to its evil regime!”

He ended his tirade with a fist thrown down onto the table of the room, and looked around at his grandchildren for a quiet moment. Finally, he took a seat at the head of the table.

“Now, if there are no further _doubts_ about the nature of our mission here, please take a seat,” he ordered.

Jake and Jade seated themselves down the table from the admiral, his retainers standing at his sides like guard dogs. His bushy brows were still furrowed, and Jade was quite sure everybody on this level of the ship had heard him yelling. Jake, a Skullbreaker Marine, one of the Republic Navy’s toughest and bravest and boldest soldiers, looked shaken to the core. The situation wasn’t a good one for either of them. This wasn’t just their commanding officer, a veteran of countless battles and a decorated war hero - this was their grandfather, the man who practically raised them, who brought them up, who inspired them to become soldiers. Trying to argue with him wasn’t only insubordination, it was disrespectful to their elder, the most important elder in their lives. How among all the stars they were going to deal with his new approach to their mission in good conscience was beyond them. As the debriefing went on, they were only sure of one thing:

Things were only going to get worse.


	5. Contraband

Before the sun had even risen over the Jedi Temple, Dir’k was awake and working.

It wasn’t by choice - it almost never was - but it was how he dealt with the… rude awakenings he suffered. He was in his night trousers, shirtless, the scars of past battles and the muscles over his thin frame earned from those fights and years of training exposed under the dim light of his room. He was working on his lightsaber, a favorite pastime of his, trying to alter and optimize his weapon. Most Jedi put their sabers together and gave no more thought to it - but some, mostly Sentinels who had more technical prowess, tinkered with their weapons to tailor them to their styles. There were plenty of crystals and parts out there to customize with, and Dir’k fiddled ceaselessly whenever he had to escape something dark inside of him - which was much more frequently than he’d admit to anyone.

It was the usual this time. A nightmare. Or rather, a nightmarish memory forcing its way back into his conscience. He glanced over at his shoto, or short lightsaber, which had been opened but not yet tampered with. He saw the openings in the focusing matrix where the amber orange crystal sat, perfectly aligned. His master believed in lineage, in connecting master and apprentice throughout generations. He had given Dir’k a crystal from the same vein as his own saber’s - the same color, even. So now in his own shoto Dir’k saw the color of the lightsaber that haunted his dreams.

He glanced now at the window. The sun was approaching. He would be expected.

He finished what he was doing to his lightsaber - adding a small secondary lens that would improve blade focus, making cleaner cuts - and closed it all back up. He dressed himself in his robes, a layer of orange for flair, and placed both sabers at his belt. He walked out of the small room, and into the corridors of the Jedi Temple. Most still slept at this hour, but some early birds walked the halls. They bid good morning to each other, but not to Dir’k; and he did not bid them a good morning, either. He felt no need to show niceties to them.

When he reached the main entrance of the Temple, he drew his hood up. He expected to see his companion here already, but he was nowhere to be found. Dir’k sighed. He was exhausted, hadn’t slept, and didn’t even completely want to be here right now. The whole reason he was here was because Dayv had asked him for help, and he couldn’t say no to him. While he stood with furrowed brows, he decided that when Dayv got here he was going to give him a lesson in punctuality.

“Dir’k, good morning,” Dayv’s voice called out. Dir’k turned, and saw him in his robes, all brown with a layer of red, walking down the stairs to meet with him. His hood was down, and his white hair and albino skin blended in with the white marble of the steps. Suddenly, the sight of him made an image from last night flash in Dir’k’s mind - the Jedi, a year younger, yet seeming so much more child-like, crying, sobbing controllably, alongside two other heartbroken souls, mourning the loss of a master who did nothing wrong except mistake a long gone friend could still be gotten through to.

It makes him grind his teeth before calming back down. Dayv, next to him now, furrows his brows worriedly as he regards his friend. Bags, dark circles, and an aura of anger that was all too familiar.

“Are you alright?” Dayv asked, concerned.

“I’m fine. Come,” Dir’k ordered as he turned and walked away from the Temple and towards the streets where they could fetch transportation.

“You don’t strike me as fine,” Dayv countered. Dir’k was never one to share much, but after the events of last year… well, he went from introverted to a recluse, and it worried Dayv.

“Then your perceptions fail you,” Dir’k shot back. He had no interest in discussing trivialities with Dayv, who was always so keen on prying and pressing matters that didn’t need talking about.

“I sense great distress in you, brother,” Dayv noted. Dir’k exuded negativity - frustration, anger, nothing healthy for a Jedi to be drowning in.

“I assure you, Dayv,” Dir’k promised, checking his own emotions and drawing on his master’s teachings to hide his feelings better from Force senses, “What you sense is not distress, but exhaustion.”

Dayv searched Dir’k more as they left the Temple grounds. True enough, he sensed only tiredness and irritation. Perhaps Dir’k was right, and he had simply been mistaken. He felt guilty now for being so cocky and thinking so highly of his perceptions - he still had much to learn, even if he claimed otherwise to the masters who looked down on him.

“Forgive me, I had only thought…” Dayv trailed off.

“It’s been a year, Dayv,” Dir’k said rigidly. “It doesn’t affect me anymore.”

_ Deception is not the Jedi way _ , Dayv thought to himself. But he said nothing. He didn’t want to try causing an argument with Dir’k when he was already being so kind by helping Dayv with this case. Instead, the two of them walked in silence towards the Security Force station.

* * *

 

“We’re here about the contraband secured in the raid a few days ago,” Dir’k explained. They had spent the transit to the station in silence, and stood now in the building, a large rectangular office area with grey walls and white lighting. The receptionist had greeted them as officers and citizens scurried to and fro from desk to desk, in and out of the building, the business of law enforcement never resting.

With a curt, understanding nod, the receptionist pressed a few buttons on her terminal, and asked the two of them to follow her. They did so, maneuvering through the crowded area towards the blast doors at the far end of the room, where the innards of the station could be accessed. There, Dir’k knew, was where the more… private affairs of law enforcement were carried out. Dayv knew as well, but to a less detailed degree. As they reached the door, a Kel’dor male walked out, in the uniform of a CSF detective.

“Master Jedi,” the Kel’dor bowed in greeting, “it is an honor. I am Detective Pho Kono, I was the one who requested your assistance on this case.”

“A pleasure, detective,” Dir’k replied curtly. “I am Sentinel Dir’k, and this -”

“Is Guardian Dayv, yes?” Pho guessed, looking at Dayv, who fought back a smile at the recognition.

“Yes,” Dayv answered, trying to maintain his Jedi air of mystique. Dir’k, in turn, had to fight against the urge to roll his eyes.

“I read Sergeant Wayve’s report on the raid you assisted with, your boldness and tactical prowess are admirable. I’m sure you and your friend will be of great assistance,” Pho ventured. Dir’k didn’t like him. He sensed superficiality more than sincerity.

“We’d be of greater assistance if we could actually look at the material, detective,” Dir’k stated.

“Of course, of course, forgive my delays. Come, it’s all back here,” he gestured for them to follow, and they did. 

The back hallways were more coolly lit to give a somewhat more intimidating atmosphere for convicts and suspects on their way into detainment or interrogation. They were also built to be somewhat dizzying, with asymmetrical halls branching off here and there, to make it seem more difficult to navigate than it actually is. Dayv tried to look unimpressed, while Dir’k’s eyes glances about, quietly taking the area in. Interrogation rooms, detainment cells, contraband storage spaces, all the trappings of a law enforcement center that didn’t need to be out in the open.

Finally, they were led into a forensics lab, which was better lit than the corridors outside. Now Dayv let his gaze wander, observing the three other people in the lab - two of them were humans, standing by the table in the center, the other one a Twi’lek female by the cabinets on the far wall. Dir’k, on the other hand, immediately focused his gaze on the contraband in question on the table.

Each individual item didn’t seem like anything in particular, just strange gadgets that didn’t seem to do anything. A glass lens suspended in a rig of metal, hollow half-spheres of thin plain grey metal, canisters - scrap pieces, it seemed like. None of it carried any particular identifying symbols or trademarks. It looked more like a salvager’s haul than a smuggler’s merchandise. Dir’k didn’t quite understand why they had decided Jedi assistance was necessary for something so harmless.

“Master Jedi,” Pho announced, “this is my team - Dr. Marco Phaxis and his assistance Mexei, our forensics specialists there at the table, and my partner, Detective Lara Mekani,” he introduced. They each nodded as they were named, and the Jedi bowed while Pho introduced them both. Secretly, Dayv hoped someone would say something about hearing his name. Nobody did.

“What do we know right now?” Dir’k inquired.

“Just that these items are the only things in the whole cache without a traceable origin or market value,” Dr. Phaxis explained. “We’ve run a dozen tests on them, and Lara’s searched into every contact we have. Absolutely nothing.”

Dir’k looked to Lara now. “What kind of contacts are you speaking with?”

“Fences, pimps, owners of venues where the big gangs are regulars - I talked to two dozen people, nobody’s got anything on these things,” she explained. Dir’k examined the items.

“Or nobody’s willing to talk,” he hypothesized as he walked closer to the table. Dayv followed him, trying to stay useful.

“Maybe they’re scared?” Dayv posited.

“Of what? These things are harmless,” Dir’k remarked, examining them. “The only people who’d buy it would be scavengers and junk dealers. Nothing dangerous.”

“That’s what we thought,” Mexei answered. “But these smugglers weren’t small-timers. The rest of their contraband was big stuff - drugs, weapon mods, a few body parts… this wasn’t junk, this has to be more than meets the eye,” she explained. Dayv somehow paled even more at the mention of body parts - the black market wasn’t something he stuck his nose in usually. Really anything outside of the temple wasn’t something he stuck his nose into.

“Maybe… they’re parts?” Dayv suggested as Dir’k slipped on some spare gloves to start toying with the junk, examining it more closely.

“We’ve considered that,” Pho noted, “but we have no idea what they could be parts  _ to _ . They’re not mods, they’re too basic for that. We’ve tried assembling them different ways, but there’s too many pieces and not enough information. We’ve run our databases through a dozen times, nothing about any of this stuff.”

“Which means it’s all new,” Dir’k almost mumbled as he looked over one of the half-spheres. “Not something anybody’s seen before.”

“We’ve been entertaining that possibility,” Pho said, “but it only leaves us with more questions. Who made these? Where are they from? What are they for?”

“An easier question is  _ who _ they are for,” Dir’k answered. “Have you interrogated any of the smugglers about these things?”

“Of course, but none of them are talking. They all say it’s material they got paid to move, no questions asked,” Lara explained. Dir’k hummed slightly, before setting the item in his hand back down and standing up, removing the gloves.

“Are any of them on hand? I’d like to speak with them,” Dir’k requested. Dayv looked at him hard. He didn’t know what he was planning but he sensed he wasn’t going to like it.

“A few are still here for questioning, yes. I can bring you a list of them, if you’d like to go over it and pick one,” Pho offered.

“That would be nice,” Dir’k thanked. Pho took a datapad from a pocket and tapped on it a bit, before offering it to Dir’k, who looked it over with his cold, calculating eyes. Dayv tried to think of something for him to do, feeling awkward in his inactivity. He was trained in saber combat and tactical thinking - investigative work like this didn’t do much for him.

Suddenly, his senses were overridden, and he was not entirely conscious of the world around him. Sounds dulled, lights blurred, and all he was aware of was a faint stream of energy coming from a nearby room. It was different from the buzzing of the lights or the hum of the station’s electronics… it was bigger and yet still faint.

_ Danger _ , was the only word that seemed to be provided for him.

His senses snapped back, and he immediately made for the door.

“Where are you going?” Dir’k asked, apparently in the middle of speaking. Dayv turned back and saw the rest of the group staring at him, confused. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure - Dir’k seemed to be displeased with him. In truth, Dir’k was just confused by his behavior, but Dayv’s mind raced to anxious conclusions.

“Er - nowhere, I just thought -” Dayv paused, the energy signature he sensed growing stronger - growing nearer.

“Thought what, Dayv?” Dir’k asked. Dayv did not respond. Dir’k’s concern grew. Dayv didn’t act out like this, and he sensed worry and confusion in him. 

Suddenly, the door opened, a droid standing in it. The group stared at the machine - humanoid, with blank features, sleek with light grey plates over its steel grey exolayer protecting its machinery. It glanced around at them before settling its gaze - a face with only two blue lenses for features - on Dir’k.

“Primary host located. Commencing retrieval protocol,” it buzzed out.

With unexpected speed, it leaped forward, streaking through the air towards Dir’k. Not quite quick enough to draw a lightsaber, the Sentinel was crushed by the droid’s tackle. One mechanical arm holds him down while the other splits into two - half an arm pinning the Jedi, the other half rearing back for an attack.

A sound of erupting plasma, the wooshing of air on saber, and the crashing sound of metal being torn and falling to the ground. Dayv stands with his blue lightsaber ready to continue the attack, but the droid falls limp, harmless. Dir’k takes a moment to register what just happened before staring at Dayv, incredulous.

“...I thought that would happen,” Dayv finally finished, deactivating his saber. Dir’k did not react but tossed the broken droid’s top half off of him before standing up. Now it was Pho he focused his glare on. The Kel’dor holds his hands up defensively, answering a question not asked.

“It was deactivated, we were storing it in the next room, we thought it was a protocol droid or something,” he explained.

“You didn’t run a diagnostic on it or scan its memory core?” He asked, trying to maintain a Jedi’s temperament.

“We  _ did _ , and found  _ nothing _ ,” Lara interjected. “It called you primary host, why?” She asked, accusing.

“I’m a Sith Lord if I know,” Dir’k answered, “but it just goes to show that this smuggler’s ring really wasn’t playing coy with this scrap. They were hauling something for someone with plans - an assassin droid that activates on its own that can hide its programming isn’t just an accident.”

“I agree,” Dr. Phaxis finally said, having been silent the whole time. “But once more, this adds many many questions.”

Dir’k’s brow furrowed before he looked back to Pho.

“Questions I intend to answer. Get me a room with the smugglers. Any of them. I’ll get answers if I have to surgically remove them from their minds myself,” Dir’k underlined. Pho nodded.

“Go to Interrogation Room 3A across the hall. I’ll bring in your first friend in a minute.”

“Make sure we’re not disturbed.”

“Of course,” Pho promised.

Dir’k walked out of the room, past Dayv, who eyed after him, hoping for an expression of his thanks or some kind of praise for killing the droid. When none came and Dir’k was out of the room, the albino Jedi sighed quietly, before turning and appraising the droid.

He couldn’t say why, but he could tell this wasn’t going to be as simple as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry for the long hiatus, with summer comes work which means my energy levels and creative juices are both really low. I'm going to try to keep a better schedule but I can't make any promises. I appreciate your patience and continued support!


	6. Lunch

_ Later that day… _

The rattling of a pill bottle, or rather how soft the rattling sounded, only intensified the headache Jayn was trying to resolve.

It had been a few days since she had exposed a ring of corruption in the Senate, and the fallout alone - nevermind the political machinery still grinding in the Senate Hall that she had to deal with - had kept her up late at night sifting through news reports and responding to the press. The pills had helped her headaches and to keep her feeling awake, but she hadn’t had time to replenish her supply. And, perhaps a bit to her shame, he had gone through it rather quickly.

Her droid protector examined her as she popped the pills into her mouth, following it with a drink of water. SEB-45TN was worried about his charge. He had told her several times her dosages were too high, taken too quickly, but she ignored him. The worst side effect was low blood pressure, and given her usually high blood pressure from stress, she’d welcome a balancing factor. Still, SEB was programmed by his maker to protect and advise Jayn, which meant that no amount of reassurances or commands to stop worrying will ever make him feel reassured or stop worrying. He hadn’t approved of her bold move against her fellow Senators, worried that it would make her a target, and while she seemed content with her security, he had been running his sensor modules at heightened efficiency. Not so good for his energy levels, but it was worth it.

Finally, the waiter delivered Jayn’s lunch order - a nice rich soup with a hearty salad, plus a pastry on the side. She ate better at home, but here in the Senate’s dining room during lunch recess where the press was buzzing about she had to look like she “cared” about her diet. She had a lot of attention on her right now and she wanted it focused on her politics more than her meal plan. As she started to eat, she noticed somebody approaching, a familiar grey face and violet eyes.

“May I?” Representative Eridan Ampora requested, pulling a seat back from Jayn’s table for himself. Jayn’s mouth was full, but she nodded her assent. She and Ampora weren’t exactly friends or allies, but they had an impromptu moment of mutual support a few days ago when Jayn used her bust to help Ampora advance his own agenda. Specifically, her bust helped him get the votes to move the Alternian Resistance Nation onto the next stage of acceptance into the Republic proper. Ever since there’s been a mutual but unspoken respect for each other. Wiping her mouth politely, Jayn regarded the Representative.

“You’re a good smidgen late to lunch,” Jayn remarked.

“I had some business to attend to before making my way to the dining hall - business I believe you may be interested in involving yourself in, given your track record,” Eridan explained. Jayn raised an eyebrow as she took a bite of salad and swallowed.

“Is that so? And what part of my track record makes you believe that?” Jayn inquired. She wanted to know his motive before hearing his directive.

“Well, there was your big bust, plus the rations bill you got passed, plus the fact that you helped my people,” Eridan listed. A waiter came for his order, and he merely asked for a seafood platter. Jayn noted his word choice - ‘my people’, not ‘me’. He was either being choosy with his words, or earnest. She couldn’t quite tell yet.

“Is this an Alternian affair, Representative? Because you have to understand that while my support goes towards your people, I am an  _ ally _ , not a  _ tool _ to use for my voting power,” she warned. She made a promise to her people when she was elected to the Senate to serve them and their interests first and foremost, and to never be used for the political gain of others. Eridan waved the idea away.

“I understand your stance, and share it. Your support is deeply appreciated, and the Resistance Nation offers its own support, in turn,” he promised. “To answer your question, though, it isn’t a strictly Alternian affair. It has to do with the Republic Navy,” he explained. Once more, Jayn raised an eyebrow.

“What’s a Representative of a non-member state doing poking his nose into the Navy?” Jayn inquired, perhaps a bit pointedly. Eridan’s food arrived, and he curtly thanked the waiter.

“Just keeping myself informed, Senator. Nothing worse than you poking your nose around private corporations to collect your evidence,” he explained.

“That was to expose corruption in the Senate. What are  _ you _ trying to do?”

“Keep my people safe. And by extension, the Republic.”

Jayn stared at him as he began eating, his eyes glancing between his food and her. She tried to read him, figure out his angle. She had no reason to distrust him, nor to trust him. It wasn’t technically illegal for him to be investigating Navy business, since he was a Representative, but it was somewhat suspicious. Since the ARN wasn’t officially a member of the Republic, the Navy was not obligated to protect its space, nor was it politically able to do so due to the ramifications of Republic military intervention against an Imperial vassal. If he was trying to pull strings and increase Republic presence in the ARN, he could start a war.

“...I am listening. Tentatively,” she said. Eridan nodded politely, taking a drink of water.

“I was reading through the files on naval placements around the Republic, trying to figure out what was where, and for what reason. Make no mistake, the Republic is my people’s best bet for safety and freedom, but I want to make sure that we’re not trading subjugation for submission. I wanted to see what the Republic’s interests were, and there’s no better way to learn what a man loves than where he keeps his guns trained,” Eridan explained. Jayn nodded along.

“And where is the Republic keeping its guns trained?” Jayn inquired, curious as to the Representative’s point. He pulled a small datapad out and pressed some buttons, before sliding it over to her.

“This is a map of all public information on naval fleet locations, as well as the command staff of each fleet. That particular round of information was current as of a week ago. First Fleet over Coruscant, Second over Kuat, Third at Anaxes… all of them garrisoned over key worlds for the Republic, mostly economic and military hardpoints. Each of them are able to respond to incursions and issues within several parsecs given a few minutes, an hour or two at most for distant worlds,” Eridan pointed out each fleet and gestured around the map for emphasis.

“I don’t see anything unexpected or suspicious about such an arrangement,” Jayn responded, taking a few more bites of food.

“Not until you notice that there’s a gap along the border with the DMZ. Nor any mention of a Fifth Fleet,” he noted, pointing out the gap. Jayn frowned a bit.

“So, what, there’s a hole in the Navy’s records?” She postulated.

“No, at least not an accidental hole. It’s too dangerous not to have a fleet along the DMZ, the Empire would be able to waltz in. But it’s also dangerous to  _ admit _ to having a fleet along the DMZ, because then people could find it and evade it. So the Fifth Fleet is there, somewhere hidden along the borderline, ready to do whatever it needs to do whenever it needs to do it. Only top military officials would have access to information on it, but we can hypothesize using the holes in the data,” Eridan went on, taking another drink of water before a few more bites of food.

“How is this any kind of relevant to anything, Ampora?” Jayn asked. “It seems like you have this question as sorted out as a Jedi’s wardrobe.”

“I wish,” Eridan expressed. “No, there’s only more questions. Like I said, this is current as of last week. I noticed something strange between this information and the latest as of yesterday, though - look at the commander of the Second Fleet over Kuat.”

“Admiral James Har-bert. I’ve heard of him - a war hero.”

“Now look at this week’s data…” Eridan asked, before pressing a button. The name changed.

“Admiral Ana Netri. So Har-bert was, what, retired?” Jayn questioned. Eridan shook his head.

“Impossible, there’d be headlines and ceremonial send-offs. No, he had to have been reassigned. But I can’t find  _ where _ he was reassigned, or where Netri was before the Second Fleet.”

“Which means she was with the Fifth Fleet, and now  _ he’s _ with the Fifth Fleet,” Jayn concluded quickly. “But why does that matter?”

“Why, indeed,” Eridan repeated. “Why the reassignment? Har-bert’s old and at an age where he should be retiring, not getting sent off to the DMZ. He’s  _ also _ a seasoned veteran and capable commander. Netri’s relatively fresh compared to him. So now we’ve got an old vet commanding a fleet that’s as close to the Empire’s borders as we can get.”

“What, you think someone’s expecting a ruckus along the border? Wanted a veteran at the frontline against an invasion?” Jayn theorized. Eridan’s concern with this matter was beginning to make more sense when she viewed it this way.

“I’m absolutely expecting trouble. But I don’t know what kind. I don’t  _ think _ the Empire is bold enough to launch an invasion - or if they are, they’d keep it too tight under wraps for us to prepare for it. Maybe someone wanted Har-bert out of the way, maybe someone wanted him as far away from the Core as possible. Before I came here, I tried talking to some Senators to find out where I could go to get more information, but nobody could - or would - help me.”

“So now you’re coming to me, because you know I managed to out dozens of Senators for corruption with nothing but my own gutsy gumption,” Jayn realized. SEB-45TN glanced around, making sure nobody was giving them any looks or eavesdropping on them. Why his charge had to have these conversations in public like this was beyond him.

Eridan stared at her as the senatorial pages came through, announcing the recess was ending and that business would resume in a few minutes. He didn’t speak, but she could see the question in his eyes. She finished her lunch and her drink, wiped her mouth, and stood up. He stood with her. She regarded him once more.

“We can discuss this in more private quarters. Dinner at my apartment, after the session for today adjourns?” She offered. The Representative expressed his gratefulness quietly, in his eyes.

“That would be very nice, Senator. I look forward to it,” he thanked as the two of them made their way out of the dining hall for the Senate Hall, the wheels of political intrigue turning with renewed grease.


	7. Hired Help

“Captain, we are arriving at the Onderon planetary system, designated as the midway point on our return course, and the first Republic system on our stop-list,” CAS-33 announced to a still-sleeping Jon. The Captain grumbled a bit and rose out of his bed. There were twelve beds on board, six on each side of the dormitory, but only one was regularly occupied. He considered CAS-33’s attempts at persuading him to fill those bunks, but was too exhausted to give any thought to them as he put his goggles back onto his forehead and made his way to the cockpit. 

For the first time in a week, Jon had managed to score a solid six consecutive hours of sleep. Since he left Republic space he had to keep his guard up, but once he made the jump for Onderon he knew he could relax the whole way there. From here on out, he wasn’t breaking any treaties - just a guy with a ship and a destination.

“How are we doing supply-wise? Did we need to make a restock trip or can we just keep going?” Jon asked. While the whole trip had been planned before he took off from Abregado-Rae, he didn’t have the charts and notes memorized. He had CAS-33 for that.

“A restocking is scheduled for this stop - our food stores are low, and fuel will not be sufficient for the rest of the return trip. We are also expected to report to the embassy in Iziz to confirm mission completion and validate our pay,’ CAS-33 explained. Technically, he was done with this job once he was debriefed by the resident military authority, who was expecting him. From there the Republic would have more missions and contracts for him - which he would put on hold until he got back from a mission of his own. They’d be grouchy about timing, but if he pulled his plan off, they’d be more than thankful for their own patient.

“Alright, we’ll touch down, get our check, grab some chow, and blast off for Anaxes,” Jon determined, sitting at the pilot station and taking the ship off of autopilot. There was a small customs station who requested his information, and he provided it freely. Here he wasn’t a criminal or a spy - he was just another citizen of the Republic. With military-level clearance that let him cut in line for landing rights. He started the descent through Onderon’s thick atmosphere.

The planet, once he was below cloud cover, was somewhat familiar to him. It was technically an Inner Rim world - not quite as close to the Core (and thus as important) as worlds like Kuat and Fondor, but not quite the Mid Rim. It was the first layer of Republic space anyone entering from the DMZ would be coming through, and for that reason it had a large military presence. Dozens of fleets were all scattered around the Inner Rim, not quite as powerful as the garrison fleets on reserve in the Core, but enough to respond to an invasion in force. Jon’s missions beyond the DMZ often had mid-way points at Onderon, as it was often the last planet he could go to - or first he could arrive at - that was actually friendly.

The planet itself was a jungle world, covered with big oceans and thick foliage. It was all a dark green on the surface, and Jon knew from some factbook or other that he had read out of boredom that the Onderonian surface was the home of some of the galaxy’s fiercest predators. The whole ecosystem was hostile to most forms of sentient life - and there was only one single city on the whole planet. But what civilization lacked in quantity, it made up for in quality. Iziz had an incredible history and a diverse culture, and its people were proud of their home. Jon wasn’t especially driven to patriotism - his grandfather had made it a somewhat bitter concept to him - but he still thought it was impressive how devoted the Onderonians were to their world and the Republic.

And there it was now - Iziz, the Walled City. It was a pale golden-brown color, turbolaser towers standing ready to shred any air assault, the ancient walls standing tall and proud. The skyline was squat and nothing close to other cities, but it made itself known above the jungle surrounding it. Flying over that jungle, Jon gradually made his way to the designated landing zone he was pointed to by customs, and the  _ Heir of Breath _ touched down on the jungle world once more.

“I’m receiving a message from the 23rd Fleet garrisoned in this system - Admiral Long would like to speak with you, sir. Apparently he was made aware of your registration at the customs station,” CAS-33 noted. Jon rubbed his eyes a bit, trying to get the crud out of them. With a grunt, he stood back up, and walked back to the main room in the middle of the ship, which doubled as a communications room. He already saw the blipping yellow light that signalled an incoming transmission. Without ceremony, he opened the channel, and a man in an admiral’s uniform appeared in holographic form to him.

“Captain Jon Har-bert here,” Jon greeted as lazily as he could afford. He didn’t care for admirals. He grew up with one and it was awful.

“Captain Har-bert, very glad to see you again. It’s been some time since you’ve been in the Onderon system,” Long remarked. Last time Jon saw him was months ago after a delivery to a pro-Republic crime syndicate in Imperial space.

“Right, right, it’s good to be back. Uh, mission accomplished, no issues worth noting, our client sends you their thanks. Usual payment method?” Jon breezed through the debriefing. Since he wasn’t military he didn’t have to observe formalities and avoided them if he could. He had other things on his to-do list. The admiral raised an eyebrow.

“No issues worth noting? Or no issues, period? You know we have to be made aware of any complications during your outings, Captain, in order to appropriately prepare-”

“Prepare for any possible compromises, I get it, I get it. We had two short run-ins with a patrol in open space during an intermediary stop and a planetary air patrol at the delivery system. Both resolved without compromise of identity or purpose,” Jon assured. He didn’t divulge that he was nearly captured by the patrol fleet, but that was a minor detail. The admiral regarded Jon a bit.

“Very well. I suppose that will do. Payment as usual, the credits are already in your account, I’ll validate the transfer now. You’ll have your next mission transmitted shortly. Signing off,” Long said before his image faded out. Jon rolled his eyes a bit. Sometimes he wondered how far he could’ve gone in the military. Then he actually interacts with them and remembers how much he hates stuffy boring “discipline”. He made his way to the loading ramp, dropped it, and sauntered off the ship to take in a breath of fresh friendly air for the first time in a long time.

The sunlight from the yellow star was warm, and the air had a cool, moist breeze. It was autumn for this hemisphere of Onderon, and that meant kinder, more temperate feeling weather in Iziz. As he made his way down the spaceport for the market quarter, he could smell the harvest’s bounty in the air, mixed in with the scent of the animals of the streets. Yes, the scent of Iziz was exotic, and to the uninitiated it was sickening - but to those who had been across the galaxy to much worse places, it was a fine scent, indeed.

“Sir, the transfer was validated,” CAS-33’s voice noted in his ear through his comlink. “A deposit of 500,000 credits has been made. Accounting for budget expenditures, we have made a 120,000 credit profit off of this previous run. Running the numbers for this restocking trip, we can expect a 115,000 credit surplus,” she calculated. He had a gut feeling he knew where she was going with this.

“And you want me to dip into that to hire new crew members,” he ventured. CAS-33 was silent. He rolled his eyes as he turned a corner into the merchant quarter and started looking for a food warehouse and fuel supplier. Both would be close to the spaceport for pilots like him. “I told you, Case, I don’t need help. I’ve got you and I’ve got me. Anyone else would be a security risk,” he explained.

“That is misinformation, sir. The Republic Navy has given you carte blanche on hiring assistants so long as you feel no security risk is at place. A droid can be easily silenced,” she argued.

“And easily stolen,” he countered.

“A crew member can be kept reasonably ignorant, on a need-to-know basis only,” she tried.

“Until they ask questions or figure something out and swing out to the Empire for a few hundred thousand credits in compensation,” Jon shot down. CAS-33 didn’t have lungs but he could almost hear her sighing.

Suddenly, however, Jon felt a tugging on his vest. He turned, and saw a small alien, only as tall as his legs, with large white eyes and black plate-like skin in dirty gray rags for clothes - a Carapacian, he realized. The alien did not speak, but gestured at him, apparently unable to speak, or at least speak Basic. While Jon was only fluent in one language, he guessed at the gestures pretty quickly - he was good at charades.

“Huh? What? You wanna know if I’m a pilot?” He inquired. The alien nodded its head. “Um… yeah… why?”

The alien gestured at itself, then at its clothes, up at the sky, down to the ground, rocked its head around, drew a line down its eye, at its clothes again, at Jon and towards the spaceport, then back at its clothes and itself.

“You ended up getting stuck here, and you wanna get away again, and you want me to help you do that?” Jon asked. The alien nodded. Jon frowned a bit and scratched his head. He might be able to help but he had other things to do and… well, he could make time for such a cute, helpless little alien. He sighed and smiled a bit.

“Alright, so where do you need to go? Where’s home for you?” He asked. Hopefully along the way to Anaxes.

The alien thought for a moment, then gestured vaguely around it. Jon was confused. 

“...Uh… everywhere?” He guessed. The alien shook its head noncommittally - close enough. “Then… where do you want to go?”

Another vague gesture.

“...Everywhere?” Jon tried again. The alien nodded, more enthusiastically this time. He was right on the dot, apparently.

“Wait, you want me to  _ hire _ you?” Jon asked, incredulous. Once more the alien nodded, then gestured ladeling food into its mouth, placed its head on its hands like it was sleeping, then rubbed its fingers together before holding two fingers close together.

“Food, a place to rest, and not much pay, is that what you’re asking for?” Jon translated. Another nod. This wasn’t a smuggler or ruffian looking for a check, this was a vagabond looking for a home. Jon sighed again.

“Listen, buddy, my work’s not that easy or nice. You’ve gotta be able to be fast, to fly a ship, fix a ship, you gotta be able to use a blaster and dodge blasters, you gotta be able to keep big secrets and a lot of other stuff. I don’t think you’re up for it,” he admitted. The vagabond stared at him hard before reaching into its rags, and producing a small shiny medal without its ribbon. Jon examined it - it wasn’t a Republic medal, but on the back it read ‘The Gold Star of Honor - Awarded For Incontestable Courage and Valor In Service to Others’. Apparently the little guy was some kind of hero wherever he was from. 

Jon sighed. He had no reason to believe this was a real medal or that this Carapacian was actually worth anything. In fact, he had every reason to believe that this was an Imperial spy looking for intel on him. But something about those white eyes and the earnestness the little thing gestured with… Jon just couldn’t bring himself to distrust him. His mind flashed back to his grandfather's warning that his naive willingness to trust others would be his death. That sealed the deal - anything granddad said was something to prove wrong.

“Alright, I guess I can take on for a little bit. At the very least I can take you to the Core worlds where there’s plenty of spacers looking for crew. But I can’t promise any more than that, OK?” Jon warned. Surprisingly, the Carapacian, after a moment of staring, threw its arms around Jon’s thighs in a hug that made Jon look around a bit awkwardly at the crowds of people walking around him. He patted the alien on the back a bit before the Carapacian finally backed away, hands folded together like a schoolboy. Jon laughed a bit awkwardly.

“So… what should I call you, then?” Jon asked. The Black Carapacian rummaged through its rags for a moment, then produced a torn up patch with a name on it in Basic. Jon had to squint at the patch to read it.

“...Weevee? Your name is Weevee?” Jon asked. Once more, the alien nodded - Weevee it was, then. Jon smiled again and regarded his new mate.

“Alright, then, Weevee, you’ll be my first mate. You stay with me for right now while I get some supplies, and when we get back to the ship, I’ll start filling you in on everything you need to know about your new job. If I decide you’re worth having around, I’ll fill you in on everything you  _ really _ need to know about your new job. Sound good?” Jon asked. Weevee nodded excitedly before taking Jon’s hand and shaking it profusely. Jon laughed a little bit more, then gestured for Weevee to follow him as he walked for the food warehouse, a request which was promptly and eagerly fulfilled.


	8. Paper Trails

Three days had passed since the Jedi first involved themselves in the investigation, and their help had been… measurable, at least.

The first day of the investigation was spent determining the assassin’s identity. He wasn’t carrying any identifying material on him, and since he was wearing a stolen outfit, they couldn’t trace the clothing’s purchase to any accounts. Being dead, he was no longer connected to the Living Force, which meant that it’d take an especially wizened Jedi Master to search his being for any clues - but any such Master would be living life as a hermit, not only difficult to contact but difficult to transport.

So instead the Jedi focused on more mundane means - Terezi had the CSF take fingerprint and DNA samples for processing, while Rokzi and Roze traced out how the assassin even managed to get as far as he did. Through questions and interviews, as well as reviewing security footage, they found that the assassin had incapacitated the bodyguard he impersonated using a knockout spray while the guard was using the restroom. From there he changed into the man’s outfit and stored him in a janitor’s closet. The lack of blaster fire kept alarms from going off, and the security officer on camera duty reported seeing no activity. Rokzi quickly found coding which had looped the camera feed, making the same few seconds play over and over again until eventually switching back to live feed -  _ after _ the fact.

When Rokzi reported her findings, Terezi merely regarded it as basic work, thanking Rokzi for ‘saving her the trouble of kiddy work,’ a remark which Rokzi merely joked off humbly - despite her temptation to be more forceful about her comeback.

The next day, the samples came back - the man was Onar Feht, a known criminal and gun for hire, but not a high-level assassin by any means. He wouldn’t have had the brains, Rokzi deduced, to pull off a task like this, nor access to any fast-acting aerosol sedatives to knock the bodyguard out with. Not only that, but he had last been seen heading for the Outer Rim to work for the Hutts and escape heat on Coruscant - that was months ago.

As the CSF put out a bulletin requesting information on Feht, Terezi surmised that the Hutts may have sent him, but it didn’t make sense - the Hutts had no investment in Alternian diplomacy, they wouldn’t care about Ampora or the Resistance Nation. Rokzi hypothesized that Feht had left the Hutts for a new contract, but it didn’t explain his new skillset and equipment. Roze suggested that they focus on finding more information before trying to produce new theories - especially since they had been prepared to fling criticisms and counter-theories at each other.

They spent the rest of the day tracing Feht across Coruscant, examining CSF’s records on all transactions and security feeds in the sector. He had been wearing glasses and hats to throw off facial recognition software, as well as gloves to hide his prints, but he used his real name and an account he had opened only a few weeks ago for his transactions. Following the money, they found that he had arrived a few days ago, rented a motel room, transferred money to a now-closed account - likely to purchase contraband - and then hired a taxi to get to a few stops. Terezi spent all night that night reading the list of transactions and taxi destinations, while Rokzi and Roze meditated trying to seek out the meaning behind the information they had gathered.

The morning of the third day, they had concluded that his taxi trips had been to scout out the Representative’s apartment and the surrounding area, and spent that day visiting the same areas to see if any ulterior motive was at hand. They had gone through every stop on the list, and found no reason to believe Feht was doing anything but recon - which meant they were at another dead end. They still had no idea why Feht was on Coruscant, who sent him, why they wanted Ampora’s efforts to assimilate the Resistance Nation into the Republic to fail, and why their assassin died seconds after failure.

That night, the autopsy results returned - Feht’s blood spiked with neurotoxin, but the source of the toxin was impossible to deduce. It seemed to just suddenly appear in his blood stream, then caused micro-seizures until his heart gave out from the stress. They had hoped to find answers from the autopsy, but found only more questions - where did the toxin come from? There was no dart, no capsule, there was nothing in his stomach to release it, it just  _ appeared _ . Jedi and Investigator alike were stumped, unsure of how to proceed.

And then a tip came through.

The received word of it the morning of the fourth today - today - from the CSF. A man who had seen the bulletin for Feht on the news contacted them, saying that he had been in contact with Feht just a few days ago. He said he didn’t have much time to talk and explain everything during the call, but he gave an address and a time to come. The information was passed onto the Investigator and the Jedi, and they made a point to be punctual.

The apartment complex was a bit of a distance from the Representative’s, but it was close enough to one of Feht’s stops that the taxi stop was just more reconnaissance. Which it may have been, partially, but it was also a chance to have a conversation with someone - someone who apparently wasn’t afraid of talking to the police. That meant that intimidation failed Feht - or never even happened.

The three of them walked up to the door, then up the lift to the correct floor, and approached the apartment indicated by the tip. Terezi led them in the center as the Jedi flanked her rear. She buzzed on the call button to signal their arrival.

“DCJ, open up,” she commanded. Rokzi kept silent at the needless display of authority, while Roze merely glanced around, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

The door opened, and an Alternian in a red sweater with red eyes answered. Red blood - not a good thing to have in traditional Alternian society. Terezi didn’t care about the hemospectrum, but deep down couldn’t say there wasn’t a deep-rooted social instinct in the back of her head telling her this man was unnatural.

 

“Your business?” The red-blood asked.

“We were told that the resident at this address has information relevant to an ongoing investigation. I assume that wouldn’t be you,” Terezi pointed out. The man raised an eyebrow.

“What is  _ that _ supposed to mean? Are you insinuating that because of the hue of my blood, I am too invalid and dense to be of any conceivable assistance? Because if so, I will have you know that I am fully and entirely aware and clear on my civil liberties as a citizen of the Alternian Resistance Nation, and I can and  _ will _ have you sued for blood discrimination,  _ ma’am _ ,” he threatened. Terezi merely deadpanned back as Roze and Rokzi exchanged glances of confusion.

“Then I assume you’re our contact?” She dryly inquired. The man stared at her blankly for a moment, then turned.

“Karkat, I think the police are here to talk to you,” he yelled.

“Well then let them in! I told you I’m on a call!” A voice yelled back. The redblood opened the door wider and gestured for the three of them to come in, eyeing them.

“Enter at the welcome of my cousin, but be aware that I am  _ not _ consenting to any searches or seizures of my property,” he warned.

“Noted,” Terezi replied without interest as they walked in.

They examined the apartment - simple, with a living room, a kitchen separated by an archway, and what could be assumed to be bedrooms behind two closed doors. A far cry from the relative luxury of the Representative’s penthouse. The redblood examined the Jedi as they looked around.

“Would you happen to be Jedi?” He asked blatantly. Roze answered.

“We are - is there an issue with that?” She inquired politely. Some people didn’t like Jedi, and while she handled such situations with grace, there was always some level of verbal fencing she included - taking subtle stabs and tactfully punching holes in their pride and logic without giving them any reason to believe she was being disrespectful. The redblood assumed a prideful stance - Rokzi got ready for the fireworks.

“I suppose not, provided you don’t try to work your hooey witchcraft on me or my cousin. Not that I believe any of it, all this talk of “the Force” and “interconnection” is just pre-hyperspace age superstition. Frankly I don’t understand why your Order still exists in this day and age, especially considering the fact that all you do is get into everybody’s business. Really, the only  _ real  _ Jedi mind trick is how you trick everyone into thinking you’re anything special,” he argued. Roze merely smiled.

“Your opinion is noted, sir,” she responded, before waving her hand slowly. “Now you’d like to go rest and leave us alone,” she said.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go rest and leave you alone. I have a blog to run - very important,” he repeated, his stance and expression unchanged before he walked over to a door and entered it, closing it behind him.

Roze and Rokzi glanced at each other, smiling, before giggling a little bit. Terezi was unamused.

“Why don’t you go  _ without _ digging around someone’s brain next time,” she requested sarcastically. Roze shrugged.

“It was a harmless trick - for our own convenience, and to save him his breath,” she answered.

“Yeah, well, I don’t consider depriving someone of their free will to be harmless. You’re lucky you cultists get special protections, or else I’d arrest you for coercion,” Terezi threatened. The Jedi regarded her more seriously now - they sensed nothing but severe sincerity from her.

Before the argument could escalate, however, the other door opened, and another Alternian, also with red eyes, wearing a gray shirt and black jacket, emerged. Terezi’s eyebrow raised up in surprise.

“Karkat Vantas? The ARN activist?” She asked, incredulous. “I’ve seen you all over the news. I thought you were in Resistance Nation space, working with relief efforts and pro-Republic groups. What are you doing  _ here _ ?”

Karkat blinked at the recognition. It seemed that he wasn’t expecting his reputation to precede him - admittedly, it hadn’t preceded him by much, since both Roze and Rokzi were in the dark as to who he was, exactly. Apparently some kind of especially involved activist.

“Well, I  _ live _ here, for one thing,” he answered. “I haven’t actually found a home in the Nation yet. The organizations I work with put me up for a bit, but I don’t outstay my welcome. If you’ve got to know, right now I’m here working with grassroots groups trying to get them to back the Nation’s cause. You must be Investigator Pyrope,” he guessed, extending a hand, which Terezi took.

“Yes, Terezi Pyrope, Republic Department of Criminal Justice,” she introduced. As an afterthought, she gestured to the Jedi behind her. “My Jedi liaisons, Rokzi and Roze.”

The Jedi bowed, and offered simple greetings. Karkat bowed a head in turn and mentioned that it was an honor to be hosting Jedi. It was mostly polite, but still sincere. He also apologized if his cousin Kankri had caused them grief - they waved the concern away.

“We understand you had contact with the perpetrator of the attempted assassination of Senator Lo’bor?” Rokzi asked. She was on a time limit - she had a choice to make in three days, and she wanted to try to get this case as close to closed as possible before then to keep her options open.

“Right, that,” Karkat mumbled, scratching his head, gesturing for them to seat themselves on his couch as he sat down in a spare chair.

“When did Feht come to you?” Terezi asked.

“Days ago, in the evening. He said he wanted to talk about my work and the potential to advance the Resistance Nation’s agenda,” Karkat explained.

“And you took that at face value?” Roze asked. Karkat shrugged.

“I work with grassroots organizations. Normal people like me. It’s not unusual for someone to come up on my doorstep wanting to talk politics,” he answered. “He and I talked for an hour or so. He said he was close to some Senators, and wanted to help me by getting their ears. Obviously that was a pretty tempting offer, so I worked with him.”

“Worked with him how?” Rokzi inquired. She searched his feelings - he was speaking honestly, but there was a worm of guilt twitching ever so slightly in his thoughts. She couldn’t pursue it without him becoming more aware of her mental intrusion, though, so she waited to hear him speak more.

“He had questions, about Representative Ampora, wanted to know his record. I explained to him the unbiased facts and… well, some biased thoughts.”

“What kind of facts?” Terezi inquired.

“What kind of thoughts?” Roze added.

“Stuff like his background, his record in the Senate, his work with Princess Feferi. And I may have, well… I just gave my own personal opinion on the Representative, OK? It’s nothing important,” Karkat dodged. Roze raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not illegal to have an opinion, you know,” Roze coaxed.

“It’s also not illegal to withhold that opinion,” Karkat countered.

“What else?” Terezi pried. “How did he react to your answers?” She asked. Karkat shrugged again.

“He nodded along. He wrote some things down. He asked if I happened to know the Representative’s schedule, he wanted to see if he could get a word in with him, one on one. I told him when the Senate adjourns for the day, and that if he wanted to catch him, he’d want to be in the lobby of the apartment building when Ampora got home. It’s a usual activist tactic, you know? A quick word on their way in, to get the conversation started,” Karkat explained.

“And then?” Rokzi pressed.

“He nodded, thanked me, and left.”

“He got what he wanted - a time and place to be to catch the Representative, and ammo to pin the assassination on him,” Roze figured. “All he had to do was stick around the lobby, wait for Lo’bor to show up, take the guard’s place, and he’d be golden.”

“But then how did he know when Lo’bor showed up? Or that his guard would use the bathroom?” Terezi inquired.

“Well he wouldn’t have had to have known,” Karkat interjected, “Lo’bor would’ve shown up after the Representative - Feht would’ve just had to stick around the lobby and keep an eye out.”

“Still doesn’t explain how he knew the guard would go to the toilet,” Terezi noted. Rokzi shrugged.

“He’s not an assassin by trade, maybe he just got lucky. For right now, is there anything else you can think of that would be important to the investigation, Mr. Vantas?” Rokzi asked. He seemed to think for a moment. Meanwhile, Terezi started to sniff a bit, then casually stood up and started walking around the room.

“Nothing in particular, I don’t think. I’m sorry if I wasn’t much help, I just wanted to offer what help I could,” Karkat conceded. Terezi continued sniffing into the kitchen. Rokzi raised an eyebrow and looked at the Investigator, then at Karkat.

“Cook up something good for breakfast?” She asked jokingly. He furrowed his brows.

“I haven’t cooked anything today,” he answered. Terezi spoke up at this point.

“Oh, you’ve been cooking up something,” she remarked, reaching into a trash compactor and pulling out a small, somewhat dented canister, bringing it out to the living room and showing it to the Jedi.

“Cooking up  _ lies _ ,” she accused. Karkat furrowed his eyes more.

“...What?” he asked, confused more than anything.

“This is a canister of the same sedatives used by the assassin. In  _ your _ home,” Terezi pointed out angrily. She tossed the canister to Rokzi, who caught it and examined it, taking a slight whiff. Indeed, it was sedatives - she recognized it from her toxin training.

“I… I don’t know what to say, I don’t know where-” Karkat tried to explain, but Terezi cut him off.

“Don’t say a damned thing, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to assassinate a member of the Galactic Senate,” she declared, taking out energy restraints and yanking him out of his chair as she placed them on him. “You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to -”

“Investigator -” Rokzi exclaimed, standing up - “don’t you think we should hear an explanation for this before we jump to conclusions?”

“I agree,” Roze said, standing as well. “This could be a set-up, it’s rather blatant, too, it’s -”

“ _ Shut up, the both of you,” _ Terezi warned. “Or I’ll arrest you both for impeding justice. You don’t get a say in this!” She stated, before going on with his rights and dragging him towards the door. 

Now Rokzi could see how much of an activist he was - he wasn’t resisting arrest, but he was shouting about his rights and how he was innocent and how she had no solid reason to arrest him right now. The Jedi followed the Investigator out as she furiously towed the man out and signaled CFS to pick them up. 

Rokzi and Roze regarded each other, their expressions worried, and shocked at the Investigator’s change of heart. Minutes ago, she was surprised to be talking to this man, and now she was angrily dragging him away to jail. Her zealotry and quickness to judge could very well create a very nasty situation - If he  _ did _ have something to do with the assassination attempt, it would look terrible for the Resistance Nation - one of their biggest civilian champions tried to kill a Senator. If he  _ didn’t _ have anything to do with it, then this was a waste of time and resources, and the CSF, DCJ, and Jedi would all lose major face in the eyes of the public. Not only that, it meant that someone had taken the time to frame him, which meant that this case - which was already questionable considering the DCJ’s still mysterious involvement - was deeper and darker than anticipated.

No matter what the case, for better or for worse, Karkat Vantas was a suspect in a case that was increasingly more complex and insidious than it seemed.


	9. Family Tensions

_ Heavy fighter resistance but a lack of flak on the ground. They weren’t prepared for an air assault but they had plenty of fighters to make up for it. Visual on primary target. Formation is tight but not tight enough. Can’t get enough damage in like this, need to focus on the target. Tighten, tighten up, too tight, too tight - half the squad goes up in flames. Right wing gone. Have to complete mission - only one way. Nose dive straight into primary target. _

_ [Mission Complete] _

With a wooshing sound and a cracking of light, Jade emerged from the holo-simulator. The inside was shaped like an ARC-170’s cockpit, almost identical to her ARC-181’s, but the outside was just a big steel capsule. She stood back up on the floor and stretched out - that had been the thirtieth and final simulation of the day, and she had spent the past four hours inside of that simulator, nevermind the four she spent before lunch hour. Now it was mess time again, and her stomach patiently awaited her attention as she made her way to the mess hall. As she did so, however, the petty officer of the simulation deck approached her.

“Commander,” he greeted, “the results of that last simulation were… troubling. You completed the mission but were reported as KIA,” he explained. Jade nodded.

“It was a dire situation, but not one I plan on reliving,” she assured. The petty officer was not calmed.

“Nevertheless, it’s something I’m obligated to report to your superiors for their awareness and analysis. Suicidal maneuvers are supposed to be strongly discouraged, ma’am, and I’d be remiss in my duties if I let it slide,” he said. Jade sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Alright, petty officer. Alert my superiors of my results and we’ll see what they have to say about them. In the meanwhile, I need some grub,” she insisted as she began making her way out of the sim deck. She was stopped once more by the petty officer.

“Ma’am,” he called out, “First Sergeant Ang’lysh reported in while you were in the simulator - he wanted to request your company for dinner. He said he had something he wished to discuss with you informally,” he reported. Jade stared a bit, and nodded, thanking the petty officer, and left.

She spent the walk to the mess hall thinking about the simulation - it was eerily similar to the mission she was just on before returning to the Fifth Fleet. Of course, that mission was much more successful - no casualties, and a great majority of the target incapacitated. Still, she had failed to destroy  _ her _ target, which was the most important out of them all. She had even contemplated risking Atom Squadron’s safety by chancing a second, unnecessary attack run. She hadn’t, but this simulation didn’t give her the chance. Part of her felt it was coincidence, but part of her felt that there was a message being made somehow.

She tucked that idea away, though. She was running off of wild, baseless intuition - she didn’t need to indulge that aspect of her genetics. Her grandfather wouldn’t approve.

She turned her thoughts instead to Jake. Days had passed, and they had effectively been grounded - no missions, no deployments, nothing. It was, for one thing, boring - being cooped up in a simulator and doing calisthenics all day wasn’t exactly what they wanted to be doing when they accepted their positions at the head of the Republic’s best fighting forces. But worse, it was troubling. There was no way things were this quiet on the front. There were dozens of micro-wars and rebellions and resistance efforts they could be assisting, but instead they were effectively playing holo-games.

She enjoyed the extra rest, of course. But not when she was being kept up at night wondering how many people she could be saving if she were in her cockpit.

As she entered the mess hall, the scent of a decent meal began wafting in the air. Apparently a big upset went around in the Senate about rations a few days ago, and a new supplier was chosen - first shipment to the Fifth Fleet came in today, and it smelled like it was a real improvement. She got in line, and got a serving of dinner without incident. She made her way around the tables, cheerfully greeting the crew she knew (which was most of them), and found Jake sitting by himself a distance away from his Skullbreakers. A sure sign something was troubling him.

Sitting down across from him, she took a sip of her drink before addressing him.

“Sergeant, I understand you wanted a word?” She greeted. He acknowledged her and smirked.

“An  _ informal _ word, Jade,” he reminded. He didn’t call her here to be professional. She couldn’t help but smile back. They didn’t get to just be cousins very often. She should enjoy it.

“Right, right - what’s going on? You don’t eat alone unless you’re in medbay with a broken leg,” she remarked.

“I’ve gone a few months without a broken bone, thank you,” he quipped back, before his face became subtly more serious.

“I’m worried about Grandpa,” he admitted, in a quieter tone. She sighed quietly, biting into her meal a bit to give her time to think. “He’s gone dark. He spends all day either on the bridge overseeing the Fleet or in the war room. Nobody’s gone in or out of the Fleet since he’s gotten here - not pilots, not marines, not even relief forces. The hangar is gathering dust. We haven’t been this inactive since… since the Fifth Fleet first got moved out here,” he paused, leaning in a bit. “It’s not just me, right? Things have been stupidly quiet?” He asked. He frequently worried that he was just being paranoid.

Jade took another drink, to gather her thoughts. “...Yeah. My boys are getting antsy. It’s only been what, three days? But we normally have assignments coming in  _ hourly _ . It’s not like the whole DMZ has hushed up,” she observed. Jake seemed to think for a moment before his features hardened a little. He thought about how to proceed, then whether he should even tell Jade what he decided on. But he couldn’t go it alone - he and Jade had each other’s backs at all times. He couldn’t keep her in the dark.

“I’m going to go talk to grandpa. See if he’ll tell me what he’s doing,” he declared quietly. Jade’s eyes widened.

“Jake, you can’t do that, it’s out of place - you’re not even a commissioned officer,” she reminded him. First Sergeants were highly senior non-commissioned officers, but they were still non-commissioned. He didn’t really have a right to directly question an Admiral - the closest he could do officially was pass a message onto the ship’s Sergeant Major, the Admiral’s liaison to the enlisted marines. But Sergeant Major Capris wasn’t fond of Jake - or Skullbreaker Platoon in general, for that matter.

“Then  _ you _ talk to him. You’re the favorite, anyway,” he pointed out. He always thought she was grandpa’s favorite grandchild, even though he claimed to love (two out of three of) them equally. She shook her head.

“I am  _ not _ his favorite, and I am  _ not _ going to question my commanding officer. He taught us better than that,” she said. He cocked his head a bit, giving her a disbelieving look and smile.

“Aren’t you already questioning him by way of this whole conversation? C’mon, Jade, you’re just asking the geezer a question, making sure he’s still playing fair and not going senile,” Jake assured, putting on the polite charm that got him so far. Jade only furrowed her brows.

“I’m  _ concerned _ , is all. I’m sure there’s a perfectly valid reason for the standby! Grandpa’s been an officer for decades, he served in the Border War, he’s got more commendations than anybody on this ship or in the fleet. Maybe he’s just trying to keep a low profile!” Jade defended. As she said this, however, a shout went through the mess hall:

**“Admiral on deck!”**

The whole room fell into a hush as hundreds of people shot up from their seats to stand at attention. The clicking of boots was the only sound for several seconds, as Admiral Har-bert made his was through the mess hall, heard but not seen through the crowd. The clicking grew steadily closer, until finally he was visible to Jade and Jake. He smiled at them, and called out an “as you were” to let the crew get back to eating. Jade and Jake, knowing that they weren’t going to get to finish their meals, remained standing as their grandfather approached them.

“Enjoying your meals?” He asked politely, hands behind his back, his gut protruding out a bit more prominently.

“Yes, sir,” the two of them answered at the same time. That made the Admiral smile a bit wider.

“I’m positively relieved to hear it. When they said we’d be getting better rations I didn’t get my hopes up, but it seems the Senate’s come through for us,” he noted. “Now, down to business - both of you, with me,” he ordered, turning around. Jade and Jake followed without question or hesitation. Admiral Har-bert spoke as they walked through the corridors.

“Undoubtedly, the two of you have been curious as to the recent shutdown of fleet activity,” he deduced. “Given I raised the both of you, I’d bet my beating heart you’re both antsy as an Onderonian giant fire-ant shot up with sheer gumption. So I’m sure you’ll both be glad as a fat Hutt with a twi’lek on a chain to hear that I’ve got the perfect mission for you two, and you’ll even get to go together!” He explained as they loaded onto an elevator heading for the hangar deck - for a briefing room, perhaps.

“Respectfully, sir,” Jake piped up, taking the chance, “may I ask what the reason for the recent operational blackout is?”

Jade cringed internally. Questioning an admiral was bad - questioning their grandfather was worse.

“Well it’s simple enough, my boy!” Grandpa answered jovially. “We’re reserving our strength and resources! I can’t have the best fleet in the Navy running around bleeding manpower and supplies on kiddie missions like Netri did. No, we’re holding ourselves back for the  _ real _ missions.”

“Like this one, sir?” Jade asked politely. She didn’t know what ‘real missions’ meant, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about ignoring everything else going on in the DMZ and border worlds.

“Just like this one, Commander!” The Admiral responded as they left the elevator.

“But sir,” Jake tacked in, “what about the rest of the DMZ? There’s plenty of conflicts out there that we could be helping to resolve.”

“As I said during our last debriefing, Sergeant - we’re going straight to the source of it all. I’ve spent the past few days with my retainers and advisors trying to devise a stratagem that will stabilize the entire region, and Atom Squadron and Skullbreaker Platoon are paramount to it - here we are,” he said, opening a door to a briefing room and entering, his grandchildren behind him. He sat at the head of the table, while they sat at the sides across from each other. The holo-projector on the table was showing a map of the DMZ, with various markers, one of which was made especially prominent in the middle of open space.

“I have had my suspicions ever since the Fifth Fleet began its current assignment that it had an Imperial counterpart - a fleet on the other side of the DMZ that’s trying to sway the chaos into their favor. I never had the chance to pursue that suspicion over Kuat, but once I got here, I sent out recon probes trying to see if I could get anything to bite the bait,” Admiral Har-bert explained. “A few hours ago, one of those probes communicated the discovery of a ship matching the parameters of a light cruiser, but it was destroyed before further details could be relayed.”

“You think it’s Imperial?” Jake asked.

“I do. And I think that means we need to pry as much out of this lead as possible - I want to find out what this ship is doing, where it came from, everything. If there’s an Imperial Fifth Fleet, I want to find it, and neutralize it,” Admiral Har-bert answered. Now Jade spoke up.

“Sir, with all due respect, if this  _ is _ an Imperial ship in the Demilitarized Zone, they’d be breaking international law. Shouldn’t we report this to the Senate?” She asked.

“Come now, Jade, you know how much of a waste that would be!” He responded. “As we speak, that ship is slipping from our grasp. If the Senate asks the Empire if they had a ship in the DMZ, they’d just lie! Now, if we  _ captured _ a ship in the DMZ…” he trailed off.

“But sir, what if it  _ isn’t _ an Imperial ship? We’re not on loan to any third power,  _ we’d _ be breaking the laws.” Jake countered. Har-bert merely waved it away.

“We have ample reason to be in the DMZ investigating a potential issue,” was all he said.

“If it  _ is _ Imperial,” Jade said, “shouldn’t we at least hail the ship and inquire about its purpose?”

“No,” he answered, “engage on sight. Atom Squadron will cover the Skullbreakers as they board, then destroy the ship’s engines and communications array to prevent escape or intelligence leaks. The Skullbreakers will board as close to the bridge as possible, terminate their command staff, and recover the ship’s entire database. You will then set the ship to self-destruct and evacuate before returning here. Understood?”

A moment of hesitation.

“Yes, sir,” the two of them answered at once.

“Excellent. Gather your troops - you depart at once. Dismissed,” he declared.

Jake and Jade stood and left the room, walking together to prepare for the mission. They looked at each other, and saw the same doubt and fear in their green eyes.

_ So much for keeping a low profile _ , Jake thought to himself.


	10. Black Market

“According to various news sources, Alternian activist Karkat Vantas was arrested this morning under unknown circumstances. While sources speculate on the charges, witnesses claim that two Jedi were present at the arrest, apparently attaches to whatever case has resulted in Mr. Vantas’ arrest. Several organizations that Mr. Vantas is either associated with or supports have already given statements denouncing the arrest, citing it as thinly veiled anti-Resistance Nation oppression…”

The morning holo-news went on, but Dir’k wasn’t paying attention anymore. He didn’t want to hear any more, knowing full and well that it was just going to add to his headache.

He had gone the past three days on only a few hours of sleep total, trying to chase ghosts and threaten and mind-trick his way to some kind of lead. The smugglers were easy to crack, but were just as in the dark as they were. Of the ones he interrogated, he managed to get three different leads. Unsure of where to take the case next, he and Dayv agreed to split the leads three ways with Kono and Mekani. The thought crossed Dir’k’s mind to let Dayv investigate on his own - but then he remembered the crash course of a raid that led to their current situation, and thought against it.

Now Dayv walked next to him as they made their way down the streets, headed for their lead. Kono had an underlevel gambling den, where the smugglers first heard about the shipment, to look into, and Mekani was snooping around the spaceport they were operating from. Meanwhile, Dayv and Dir’k were going to search the prospective buyer they were told about - the one who was going to be receiving the strange contraband. The hope was that they’d find out what the stuff was for - and, maybe, the story behind the droid.

_ That droid,  _ Dayv thought. He had thought about it frequently the past few days - even Dir’k couldn’t find anything out from it. No code, no manufacturer, no memory records, nothing. But it wasn’t just the mystery surrounding the droid and its origins - Dayv wondered about it’s apparent connection to Dir’k. What did “primary host” mean? Was it just meant for the first person the droid recognized? Why did it activate when it did? He had tried searching the Jedi Archives, but he was a Guardian - research wasn’t really his strong suit. He would’ve asked Roze or Rokzi, but they were off doing something else.

His head turned slightly downward as he walked with Dir’k. He had involved himself in this case because he had been a part of the raid that found the contraband. He was in his element then - just barging in, saber blazing, and beating the enemy. Stamping out evil, that’s what Guardians were for. But this wasn’t what Guardians were for - this was for Sentinels. Even Consulars had better training for this. He quietly reconsidered why he was even still here with Dir’k when he didn’t really have any use anymore.

“Insecurity is not the Jedi way, Dayv,” Dir’k commented. He had sensed his companion’s emotions radiating quietly off of him. “Remember our master’s teachings - if we can’t trust ourselves, nobody else can trust us.”

“Of course. Of course…” Dayv replied mildly. Dir’k didn’t even know what he was thinking, though. Dir’k only knew what he was feeling. And Master Darrik’s teachings weren’t exactly the same for Dayv as they were for Dir’k. He was a different person when Dayv was being trained - Dayv  _ still _ didn’t even know how well-aligned his training was with the actual doctrine of the Order. Could he trust anything he had learned from Darrik?

Before he could allow himself to delve any deeper into that question, though, he suddenly found his vision being blurred and his thoughts being taken from him. 

**Four of them. Barging in. Guns blazing. They hit two people - Dir’k and someone else - too fast to react or protect. Something is lobbed. Fire. Death.**

He was used to this, though the timing was surprising - he had a gift from the Force, like Rose’s visions, but more specific. It allowed him to see tiny glimpses of the future, and the subtle ways to change it ever so slightly to be more in his favor. While Rose’s visions were vague and interpretative, his usually gave more clear and specific information, but were rarer, harder to produce, and just as hard to contextualize.

As his vision cleared, he looked up and saw Dir’k staring at him, his face a combination of concern and mild annoyance.

“What is it?” He asked plainly. Internally, he knew it was likely a vision, but was still irritated by the delay when their destination was just down the street. If he was honest with himself, the lack of sleep - and recent nightmares - was getting to him as well.

“I think… I think something is going to happen, soon. Something violent. Be ready, keep your guard up,” Dayv explained. Dir’k merely nodded his understanding and continued. Dayv stood for a second, expecting something more than a nod, but followed after a short pause. He was a Jedi - he didn’t need validation from others. Not even other Jedi.

Finally, they came across their destination - a weapons shop with a sign in the front calling it “Ayar’s Armory” and advertisements for deals on certain brands of blasters (Aratech 30% off!). Dir’k paused at the door, and turned to Dayv.

“Just let me do all the talking. Watch my back for… whatever.”

Dayv nodded, Dir’k opened the door, and they entered the store.

Inside, the walls were lined with blasters of all shapes, sizes, makes, and brands. There were kiosks set up in aisles which were covered with melee weapons ranging from big and lethal to small and disorienting. At the far end was the counter, behind which the “special materials” were displayed - especially powerful, especially expensive, and especially quasi-legal weapons stored behind force shields. Sitting at the register was a squat Black Carapacian in a bright yellow outfit, who regarded the Jedi with some scrutiny. As Dir’k approached, Dayv held back and kept his eye on the door.

“Ayar, I assume?” Dir’k asked.

“I’ve got my licenses in the back, if that’s what you’re here for,” he declared pre-emptively. The Jedi approached casually.

“We’re actually here to ask a few questions involving a certain shipment you were apparently slated to buy,” Dir’k explained. The Carapacian rose an eyebrow.

“I don’t have any new shipments coming in for me. I’ve got a full stock right now, I don’t even have any room in the back to store anything else,” Ayar explained. “So I figure that means you’ve got the wrong business.”

Dir’k’s brows furrowed, and he leaned in, menacingly. “A very good friend of mine told me, in between  _ screams _ , that Ayar’s Armory was expecting a small shipment of a bunch of apparently useless shit, and might have a clue about why this apparently useless shit  _ isn’t _ actually useless. So unless there’s  _ another _ Ayar’s Armory that you know of,  _ I _ figure  _ you’ve _ got the wrong  _ Jedi  _ to be playing  _ coy with _ .”

Dayv looked at Dir’k, taking his eyes away from the door. It had been a long time since Dir’k had been out of the Temple, and even longer since Dayv had worked with him, but he had never been this forceful. At least, as far as Dayv knew… he considered speaking up, but remembered Dir’k’s admonition to keep quiet, and returned his eyes to the door.

Ayar looked up at him, a twinge of fear going through his mind, but still stubborn. “You  _ friend _ must’ve been wrong in the head, buddy. I don’t buy useless shit. Now, kindly piss off before I call up my security detail.”

Dir’k reached for his belt and slammed his lightsaber directly on the counter, his thumb directly over the activation switch, the emitter pointed towards Ayar. Dayv turned once more. And once more, despite his conscience telling him otherwise, he did nothing.

“ _ Don’t. Test me.” _ Dir’k threatened with a growl. Ayar eyed the saber, then the Jedi.

“I thought Jedi were supposed to be peaceful and kind and shit,” Ayar remarked.

“I thought the customer was always right,” Dir’k shot back.

It was at that moment Dayv felt it coming.

_ “Dir’k, _ ” Dayv warned. Dir’k didn’t move, keeping his eyes trained on the Carapacian. He wasn’t going to let Dayv’s protestations open him up to attack.

Dayv moved backwards, following the flow of the Force as it guided him, but when he realized Dir’k wasn’t moving, he doubted himself, and paused. As he looked back at Dir’k, he heard the door slam open, and all eyes were on the door frame. In the threshold was two Black Carapacians in fancy battle gear, carrying blast pistols. Behind them was a large Wookie with black fur which took up the entirety of the door, and at their feet was a Jawa snickering rabidly.

“Well, lookie here,” the leader of the group remarked, “I was thinkin’ this was gonna be a quick and easy torch n’ burn, but wow! Two whole Jedi here to make it all the more interesting!”

“The  _ Midnight Crew? _ You guys are the baddest mercs in the Mid Rim - what in the King’s name are you doing on  _ Coruscant? _ ” Ayar asked, incredulous.

“You’re the owner of this joint?” The other Carapacian, next to the leader, asked.

“Yeah, I am,” Ayar answered.

“We’re on Coruscant to do this, then,” the leader answered, lifting a blaster pistol and leveling it between Ayar’s eyes.

A bolt went loose, but Dayv and Dir’k were both expecting this, and their lightsabers came out blazing. In a heartbeat, the air was full of blaster fire, and the two Jedi arranged themselves to protect their lead. The Crew advanced into the shop, the Jawa retreating to the back as the Wookie entered and began blasting its bowcaster. It was tight quarters, and a lightsaber could carve through them wholesale in a second, but it’d take too long to close the distance - enough time to get blasted to a crisp.

Ayar was now behind the counter, and in a few seconds, he had mounted a large EWEB blaster rifle onto the countertop. It was a beast of a blaster, capable of full-automatic fire that could suppress a platoon of troops with a single user.

“Hey, Jedi, duck!” He shouted out. The Jedi did so, splitting apart and moving to different sides of the kiosks as Ayar opened up, letting loose a river of blasterfire against the attackers. The four of them took cover behind a collection of kiosks, but they knew the Jedi were moving up on them.

“Too damn hot! Droog, Bawkz, get the hell out of here - Deuce, drop your shit and go! We’re blowing this joint!” The leader shouted out. They fell out in a retreat, and as the Jawa hopped up into the Wookie’s arms, it laughed maniacally as it lobbed an armful of metal spheres at them.

Thermal detonators, the three defenders realized.

Dir’k immediately ran for the door to escape the blast radius of the powerful grenades, but Dayv’s instincts led him away from the door, towards the far end of the shop where the grenades were rolling. He leaped over the counter, tackled Ayar to the ground, and tumbled them further away as the explosion rocked the shop and scorched Dayv’s back. By the time the fires passed, Dayv felt that his burned skin was exposed - his robes were burned away. Chancing a glance upward, he noticed the quivering of the small building’s ceiling.

He didn’t need the Force to tell him what was going to happen next.

The ceiling came crashing down, Dayv threw his hands out to protect him and Ayar, and it all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an update, the accompanying blog for this AU - startstuckchronicles.tumblr.com - now has bonus content available! The blog hosts the stories as they're added, as well as bonus content like additional stories from new perspectives, extra content like art, and other kinds of glimpses into the world of Starstuck Chronicles! Thanks for reading!


	11. Dinner

“Madame, the Representative will be up shortly,” SEB alerted Jayn.

“Thank you, SEB. And our other guests?” Jayn inquired, finishing her preparations for the evening.

“On their way, and should arrive on schedule.”

Jayn completed her work on her data terminal and stood from her desk. She was wearing fine dinner wear, in her trademark light blue, complete with a light layer of jewelry. A total of three guests would be over tonight - Ampora, the Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy, and the High Admiral of the Navy. The topic of discussion for the night was going to be Crok’r and Ampora’s investigation into the mysterious Fifth Fleet and its recent shift in leadership. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t produce much information on the Fleet at all - but they  _ did _ find classified minutes from the Admiralty Board’s most recent monthly meeting. The MCPO and High Admiral both would’ve been present at that meeting, or at least privy to the contents of the meeting. Considering the classified nature of the records, only a personal meeting would permit talk of it, and a dinner was the perfect excuse.

However, the morning news made Jayn decide that speaking with Ampora a bit earlier than the others would be sound recourse. SEB agreed, and Ampora agreed to come early.

As Jayn stepped out into her penthouse’s combination foyer and living room, she idly looked over her staff’s work. They had made an excellent meal for the night, and had kept the dining room fully stocked and set for their guests. She was thankful for their work, and also for the wealth her background provided to allow her to pay them generous salaries. She could just hire droids, but unemployment on Coruscant was already at disturbing levels because of automatization, and she wanted to make that up as much as she could.

Finally, the doors opened up, and Representative Ampora entered. He was dressed about as well as Jayn was, if a bit more prim. He gave a curt nod in greeting as he approached.

“Senator. You look very nice,” he complimented.

“Thank you, Representative, you do as well. If you’ll follow me to the dining room, I wanted to have a short discussion with you about something before the main event of the evening…” Jayn requested, leading him to the dining room, SEB following.

“Of course, Senator. What would that be?” Ampora inquired as they entered the dining room. The table was relatively humble to accommodate a small party, with settings and chairs set with one on each side of the rectangular table - Jayn and Ampora would be taking the heads, being the “hosts”. Jayn took her seat, and Eridan took his. No food was served yet, but the smell was potently appetizing.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the breaking news from early this morning concerning one of your constituents,” Jayn noted. Eridan’s expression shifted a bit, becoming a bit more furrowed, but unreadable.

“Yes, Karkat Vantas, the activist. I’m certain the CSF will figure out what’s going on with regards to him,” Ampora assured.

“What do you mean by that?” Jayn inquired.

“Exactly what I said - I’m sure that whatever issue is surrounding him leading to his arrest, the CSF will figure it out and handle it appropriately,” he clarified. Jayn wasn’t quite satisfied.

“Well, it apparently wasn’t the CSF that arrested him. It was the Department of Criminal Justice,” Jayn noted. “A significantly more powerful and serious law enforcement group.”

“I was unaware of that,” Eridan stated simply. “I suppose the DCJ will clarify the issue, then. I’m not sure exactly what you’re getting at here, Senator.”

“Well,” Jayn started, “as things stand, no charges have been publicized regarding Mr. Vantas, and no explanation has been offered regarding his arrest. Just that it’s a ‘classified DCJ investigation’. People are saying it’s an attempt by someone in power to work against the Resistance Nation by defaming and decommissioning one of its most outspoken citizens.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ampora confirmed.

“And yet you’ve remained quite silent on the man’s arrest. Despite your notable advocacy for your people in the Senate, you seem strangely silent when they’re actually being attacked, Representative,” Jayn claimed. Ampora’s brows furrowed further.

“If you’re insinuating I am failing in some way to protect my people because I’m not jumping to the defense of some mutant blooded rabble, Senator -” he stopped himself. Jayn’s raised eyebrows reminded him of the severity of his statement. He sighed.

“If we are going to be allies, Representative, you’ll have to improve your view of your own species.  _ Swiftly _ ,” Jayn warned. Even she knew of the horrors of the hemocaste system among Alternians, and part of her support for the ARN was Princess Feferi’s abolition of the system in all legal codes.

“Old habits, Senator,” was all Ampora said.

“You know, two Jedi were present at the arrest. It’s also believed the DCJ agent who performed the arrest was Alternian. Two Jedi and an Alternian - sounds quite a good deal like the team in charge of the case surrounding the attempted assassination in your penthouse, Representative,” Jayn pointed out. “I refuse to give into rampant speculation, but if I were a smart cookie who didn’t know you better, I’d  _ suspect _ that you had had a discreet talk with them, and arranged for this activist - whom I understand has had a long list of disagreements with you - to be, shall we say, taught a lesson. But I do know you better, don’t I, Representative?” she asked forcefully, the implicit threat obvious. Ampora seemed to simmer quietly in his seat.

“Ma’am,” SEB’s voice cut through the silence. “The guests are arriving.”

“Very good. I’ll be out to greet them. I’ll return shortly,” Jayn said, standing up. She paused as she passed the Representative.

“If I come to find out you had anything to do with the arrest of an innocent, Ampora, don’t think our mutual interests will make me hesitate,” she promised. Ampora remained silent. She didn’t know what to make of that. She turned to SEB.

“You’re ready for what we talked about?” She asked her protector and ally.

“Of course, ma’am. I will give the word when I am done,” He promised. She nodded, confident in his abilities to complete his task, and went to greet their guests.

Stepping back out into the foyer, she saw her two guests in formal military dress uniforms. The High Admiral and MCPO were engaged in light conversation, which halted when they saw their host approaching.

“Senator Crok’r!” High Admiral Sassacre greeted, walking up and shaking her hand firmly. “Such an absolute pleasure and honor to be hosted by such an esteemed and honorable member of our great Republic’s fine Senate, and on such a lovely night! I cannot quite explicate unto you how cheery it made me to schedule a shuttle down planetside, can’t remember last time I had  _ real _ gravity working on my spine!” He chuckled heartily. High Admiral Sassacre was the highest authority in the Republic Navy, though that amounted to a ceremonial place as President of the Admiralty Board and commander of the First Fleet over Coruscant. He hadn’t been planetside in years, probably, with all the time he spent in orbit.

“The pleasure is all mine, High Admiral. Master Chief Hayley, it’s a pleasure to see you, as well,” she remarked, as the MCPO approached and shook her hand more meekly.

“Likewise, ma’am,” Hayley responded.

“If you’ll follow me, Representative Ampora is already waiting in the dining room for us. I’ll have the staff bring out the hors d'oeuvres at once,” she said, guiding them back to the dining room. SEB followed them, as usual.

“Can’t wait to have me some  _ real _ food - my mighty thanks for the new rations, ma’am, but they still don’t compare to something out of a kitchen instead of a mess hall,” Sassacre noted. Jayn giggled a bit. He reminded her of her grandfather back home, and it brought fond memories. She opened the door to the dining room, and after Ampora stood and greeted the guests, they all sat as the appetizers were served. Idle chat took up the better part of the dinner, as the four of them talked about food, civil service, and recent events.

Finally, Jayn elected to broach the topic at hand.

“As fine as the evening has been, there is a particular reason the Representative and I chose to host the two of you,” she explained. Sassacre smiled a bit and set down the glass of wine he was nursing, while Hayley merely stared at her, listening politely.

“Alright, alright, what kind of political machinations are you two gonna try and rope lil ol’ me and Hayl on?” Sassacre asked lightheartedly. He had served for decades - undoubtedly Senators whispering in his ears was nothing new.

“We wanted to discuss certain information the Senator and I have found out about fleet deployments in the Navy. We have some concerns about discrepancies and alterations we’ve found in the records provided by the military,” Ampora outlined.

“Specifically,” Jayn added, “the command and deployment of one fleet in particular.”

“And which fleet is that? I’m certain as a marine’s aim I can allay any quandaries you’ve got,” Sassacre promised.

“The Fifth Fleet,” Jayn answered.

Sassacre processed her words for a moment, then shifted his expression and posture to be a bit more serious. Hayley seemed to become a bit more pensive, as well.

“I’m afraid all information surrounding the Fifth Fleet is classified as top secret, ma’am. The fact you’re even talking about it isn’t entirely permissible. But I  _ can _ tell you that everything is safe and sound in regards to it,” he promised.

“I concur with the High Admiral,” Hayley added in. “All reports from the Fifth Fleet show that everything is fine.”

“Even after the change in command a few days ago?” Ampora asked. Sassacre and Hayley both looked at him, surprised. They apparently weren’t expecting the two of them to be aware of that particular event.

“That is classified intelligence, Representative. Where did you learn that?” Hayley asked.

“I’m smart enough to see where the holes in the data are,” Ampora answered.

“Listen, we’re only trying to understand why an admiral who should be planning out his golden years planetside is now out in the middle of nowhere, and if there is anything the Senate should know about the Admiralty Board’s more private meetings,” Jayn said. Sassacre eyed her.

“Those meetings are private for a reason, madame, all due respect offered. I’m afraid that if all you’re gonna grab at is top secret information, based on knowledge you’re not really meant to be in possession of, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to kindly thank you for the meal and company, and respectfully take my leave,” Sassacre declared, standing up. The Master Chief stood as well, following his superior’s lead.

“Ma’am,” SEB spoke up, “the hour is growing late, and you do still have work.”

That was the signal.

“I suppose so, SEB,” she responded, standing up and shaking both officers’ hands. “I apologize for any disrespect owed, and I wish you both safe journeys back to your stations, and a good night,” she bade as the two men left, escorted out by staffers. Ampora watched with shock as they left, before standing up and confronting Jayn.

“You let them leave? Just like that? We didn’t even learn anything!” He exclaimed angrily. Jayn kept a cool expression.

“We’ll find another way, Ampora. Go home and rest. Perhaps consider looking more into the Vantas case. I’ll contact you when I have a new lead,” she said. Ampora merely shook his head and sighed, storming out quietly and broodingly. Jayn merely watched him leave, before SEB turned to her.

“I was expecting you to let him into the loop. Do you distrust him, ma’am?”

“I’m not sure yet, SEB. We’ll wait and see what he does in the coming days. Until then, I believe you have something for me?” She asked. SEB ejected a small datachip from the crook of his neck and extracted it with his hand before offering it to her.

“I managed to remotely hack and access their personal datapads, and produced complete copies of their contents, including autofill caches - user codes, passwords, all of it. You have access to the two most connected officers in the navy’s entire network. Illegally, I will add,” SEB noted. 

Jayn took the chip and smiled.

“If it seems like I need to use any of this information officially, then I’ll just have to  _ make _ it legal,” she concluded before looking back at SEB.

“I’ve got work to do, SEB. Clear my schedule - I’ve got a bill to write.”


	12. Homecoming

“Captain, the First Mate would like you in the cockpit, I believe,” CAS-33 announced over the intercom. Jon struggled back a snore, and sat himself upright, checking his watch. He had slept for a full eight hours - the first time in weeks. He had gone to bed telling Weevee to wake him up if he needed help with anything or if something happened - apparently, the little Carapacian was handling everything just fine.

Lurching out of bed, he grabbed his goggles from off the floor and returned them to their rightful place on his forehead, mashing down his bangs. He re-donned his holster, blaster already in it, and strolled over to the cockpit to see what the situation was.

Surprisingly, there was no situation - they were there. Jon sat down at the pilot’s chair next to Weevee, and took in the sight.

“This is it, Weevee. This is my home,” he remarked.

It had taken Jon and Weevee four days to get from the Inner Rim to the Core, zipping around on a small spending spree, picking up supplies from all the best places to get them. Jon made a particular point to outfit his new First Mate with the proper equipment - blaster-proof clothing that would turn a lethal hit into a nasty burn, a pistol to fit his hands, and new clothes to make sure he looked the part of a privateer smuggler. Still simple attire, as per Carapacian tradition, but his filthy rags had been traded for clean rags that  _ looked _ filthy with their ugly shade of grey. Jon didn’t complain, though - at least his new friend was clean and healthy.

Of course, it hadn’t taken them four days just to go shopping. Part of the extended journey was the fact that Jon had taken a longer route than the fastest. Specifically, he was avoiding Kuat - the station for what might be his least favorite relative, and least favorite naval officer. It cost them another day in travel time, but it was worth getting to avoid grandpa.

And now here he was: in orbit around Anaxes, the Defender of the Core, the source of the finest soldiers and pilots in the Grand Army of the Republic. The Third Fleet in orbit here was full of Old Anaxsi officers and crew, and was counted on to be the most elite fleet in reserve in peace, or in service during a war. The planet itself, a beautiful place of rolling fields and countless mountains, was the home of the Anaxes Citadel, a mountain fortress filled with parade grounds, barracks and airfields. There was also the Citadel Academy, where aspiring officers earn their commissions through rigorous curriculum at the most prestigious military academy in the Core.

Of course, the Citadel also hosted the estates of esteemed Anaxsi families, all steeped with service and history. That included the Har-bert estate, where Jon grew up - and where he was headed now.

A message from the space station in orbit came to his attention, requesting his information. He sent it, and in seconds, he was cleared to land. He was a black sheep, but the Har-bert family name still carried a lot of weight, even for him.

Reclining a bit in his chair as he guided the ship down through the atmosphere, he glanced over at Weevee.

“Have you ever been to Anaxes, Weevee?” He asked. 

The Carapacian shook his head with a small frown.  _ I’m afraid not _ .

“It’s a beautiful planet. I spent the first few years of my life here, with my sister and cousin. Not the best of times, but home is home, you know?”

Weevee nodded sagaciously.  _ Yes, I know that very well _ .

Jon smiled a bit in interest. “Where exactly  _ do _ you come from, Weev?” He asked. He had tried to get to know Weevee over the past few days, but most of their conversations didn’t go very far. He had learned his favorite things; that he was skilled with machines; that he could handle a blaster; and that he was a very friendly person. But nothing about his past, or where those skills came from.

Weevee thought a moment, then waved his hand away from Jon in a grandiose way.

“Somewhere far away from here?” Jon asked. Weevee nodded.

“OK, so… Outer Rim, then?”

A wavy hand.  _ Sort of _ .

“Could you show me on a map?”

A nod.

“I could bring up the navicomputer, if you wanted,” Jon offered.

A shake of the head.

“No? Why not?”

Weevee looked away from Jon, his arms crossing.  _ I don’t want to talk about it _ .

“Alright, I guess. Sorry if I upset you - here, look, there’s my hometown,” Jon pointed out, trying to deflect from the conversation. He’d pry later. For right now, he was looking at the Citadel for the first time in years. Guiding the  _ Heir _ through the familiar mountains and down to the designated landing pad near his estate, Jon felt a well of emotions surge inside of him. As he stepped off of the loading ramp with Weevee and took his first breath of Anaxsi air since he last left the planet, the nostalgia and unresolved conflict bubbled to the top of his mind. It was all very bittersweet and mixed, but he flushed it all back down and focused on why he was here.

Walking towards his old childhood home - one of the larger estates, with several buildings and grounds maintained by droids - he went through the list of items he wanted to grab from the complex, as well materials from around the Citadel. Rare technology his family had tucked away for a rainy day, as well as resources to make offerings to crime groups that could be of some use. He’d be here for the rest of the day and a bit of tomorrow - and then he’d either be heading back for the DMZ, or off to Coruscant to pick up his friend. He had a plan starting to hatch to approach his current goal, but it made it only possible to pull off, as opposed to practically suicidal.

He came to the main gate, and with a scan of the hand, he was granted access to his old home. He walked up and entered the manor itself, mentally reviewing the schematics of the building and where the tech he was looking for was at.

As he began making his way for the stairs to get to the basement, where most of it would be, he paused as he noticed a shadow that didn’t belong to him or his companion creeping along their own. Moving around swiftly, with his blaster out, he turned to see who the intruder was, ready to blast them away if they were trying to rob his family’s property. Black sheep he might be, he was still a Har-bert, and they didn’t abide by trespassers.

But the sight in front of him made his jaw drop.

It was an old woman he had not seen in ages, since he had come to live with Grandpa, dressed in thick off-white blue robes that draped her plump frame. She was smiling smugly, arms on her hips.

“Well, I suppose I should’ve expected you to draw a blaster on me, after all those years with your grandfather,” she quipped.

“... _ Nanna? _ ” Jon asked, incredulous. Weevee looked like he had walked in on an awkward family reunion. Which, to be fair, he essentially  _ had _ done.

“What, can’t recognize your own Nanna? I suppose the years haven’t been kind to me, but come now, Jon, it hasn’t been  _ that _ long,” she taunted playfully, before gesturing for him to follow her. “Come, I’ll cook you two up something good while we catch up.”

Dazed and confused, Jon could only obey as he followed his grandmother into the kitchen of the household. It was a full culinary museum, complete with a countertop with stools for informal meals. He and Weevee sat down, and watched as Nanna began whipping up a meal for them, knowing instinctively that they were hungry.

“I… you… what are you doing here, Nanna? You know nobody would be home,” Jon pointed out. All of the living Har-berts were out on military duty, or in his case, contract work. Nanna hadn’t spoken to any of them in a long time, but she would’ve known that much.

“Oh, I  _ did _ know, but the Force does know better than me, and it told me you’d be swinging back home looking for help for some hair-brained scheme of yours,” Nanna explained, tossing together a salad before going to the grill to make some sandwiches. “I figured I’d pop by and figure out what kind of trouble you were planning on going into, and seeing what I can do to make sure you stay  _ out _ of trouble.”

“But Nanna, the Jedi -”

“Have no idea I’m here, sweetie. And I don’t plan on staying long, either. Besides, not many Jedi on Anaxes that would know me,” she assured. “It’s been decades since I first slipped away from the Order to be with your grandfather. Most of the Masters who knew me have passed on.”

A question rose in Jon’s mind. He almost didn’t ask, but it couldn’t just sit there in his throat, and he couldn’t keep it there.

“...What about dad?” He asked. Nanna paused just before flipping a sandwich, then finished the flip.

“He’s safe and sound. He had to stay behind to protect our home and keep things going, though he did wish he could see you very badly. We’re eeking out a comfortable enough living. We may be exiles in hiding, but we’re together. The Force sustains us, and if he were a Jedi, Force forbid such a thing happen, he’d be a Master to dozens of Padawans by now. If anything, we worry about the three of you more than anything, especially with Jade and Jake off in the military…” she trailed off. 

“But,” she picked back up, “right now it’s  _ you _ I’m focused on, Jonny,” she emphasized as she delivered the delicious sandwiches and salad to the two of them. Weevee ate up the salad, while Jon picked up a sandwich. “So tell me - what kind of mischief are you about to throw yourself at now? And how can Nanna keep you safe?”

Jon thought it over. His Nanna was a powerful Jedi before she left the Order, and he was certain she had only become more powerful since she had gone into hiding. He trusted her without hesitation - she had been his first friend, along with his father. The only bitterness he felt against her was unwarranted - she had to leave him with grandpa for his own good. He just wasn’t sure if she’d be on board with what he was planning…

“Well, I’ve been working with the Republic. I smuggled for a while, and they almost arrested me, but Jade vouched for me, and got me a charter as a privateer. I’ve been smuggling goods to resistances in the Empire, but… it’s not easy. I can’t figure out what the patrols look like, where what’s going to be, when. If I get caught, it might start a war, so… I have to learn the patrol patterns,” he explained. Nanna nodded along, treating herself to one of her sandwiches.

“How do you plan to do that, then?” She asked. Jon shrugged a bit awkwardly. Weevee just kept munching down greens.

“I’m going to sneak onto an Imperial outpost and steal the info. That’s why I came here - to bring some of the family tech along,” he answered. Nanna took another bite of her sandwich, and Jon bit into his at last. He could tell she was thinking things over.

“What are your assets?” She asked simply.

“The  _ Heir _ , my piloting, Weevee here’s a reliable sidekick, the family tech to get me in close and get me out without a scratch, some crime gangs that can be used as a distraction, and a Jedi Sentinel who may or may not be coming with me,” he listed. Her brows raised at mention of the Jedi.

“Can you trust them?” She asked.

“With my life,” Jon answered. “We have history.”

Her expression became more suggestive. “Now, by ‘history’, you wouldn’t happen to mean…?”

“No, Nanna. We’re just friends,” Jon assured. She didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t press the topic any further.

“Well, you can get into the outpost and out, it seems, but there’s a lot to happen in between those two points in time,” Nanna pointed out. “You’ll have to get from the hangar to the server matrix and back. Anything you can do along the way to make things hotter in there, the better your chances of getting to the ship alive. Do you have any plans for once you’re inside?”

Jon took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, trying to figure out how to word this.

“...No.”

“I figured,” Nanna remarked, smiling a bit. “I suppose I’ll just have to do what we grandmothers do best, and keep my grandson out of harm’s way the best I can,” she resolved, standing up. Jon prepared a list of arguments and defenses against her attempts to keep him from going.

“Nanna, I’m not -”

“I know you’re not, sweetie,” she replied. “I was a Consular back in the day,  _ and _ I’m you’re grandmother. I know I’ve got a Jedi’s chance on Korriban to get you to back away from this plot of yours. But  _ you’ve _ got a Sith’s chance on Coruscant to stop me from coming with you, and making sure you get out of there alive, young man.”

Jon was dumbfounded. His Nanna was insisting on following him into deep space to infiltrate enemy territory and commit wildly illegal espionage?

“I… well, alright, then,” he answered.

“Good, I’m glad we’ve got that all sorted out, deary,” she said, papping him on the head joyously. “But, there  _ is  _ **_one_ ** _ thing _ I’m going to have to ask you to help me with before we head out to the krayt dragon’s den,” she noted.

“What’s that?”

“First,” she listed, “I’m going to have to ask you to swing me by Coruscant so I can get my old lightsaber back. I know where it’s at, I just need a lift. Second,” she said, “you’re going to introduce me to this Jedi friend of yours.”

Jon deadpanned. “That’s  _ two _ things, Nanna,” he corrected.

“Don’t correct your nanna, Jon, that’s rude. Now are you up for it?” She asked. Jon stood up, as did Weevee, who had cleaned the salad bowl single handedly.

“Sure, once I’ve got everything I need from here. I’ve got business in the Citadel and tech to install - can you be ready to leave by this time tomorrow?” He asked. She scoffed.

“Deary, I’m already all packed. Besides, with my extra set of hands, we can be out of here by tonight. You go off and do your business, the droids and I will get the things from the basement installed on your ship,” she insisted. Jon had forgotten how quickly Jedi can get work done - considering they can just float everything into place. He smiled and nodded.

“I’ll be back in a bit, then,” Jon promised, dashing out of the kitchen and out of the house, Weevee struggling to keep up with his small legs.

Jon couldn’t believe the way things were looking. He was home with his Nanna, getting ready for a mission that was crucial to the Republic’s interests. He was finally doing something with his life, just like he promised his dad all those years ago, just like his grandpa always said he’d never do. And frankly, he had a gut feeling that Rokzi would end up coming with them for this mission - he couldn’t explain it, but he just knew she wouldn’t be able to say no.

For the first time in ages, Jon Har-bert felt like things were really going his way.


End file.
